Far Away from Home
by Musik34
Summary: Part One: Far Away. Chapters 1-26. What happens when Zach goes missing in Iraq, and Brennan and Booth try finding him? Or when Angela keeps a devastating secret from Hodgins? Takes place after StarGazer and before season 3. Part Two: Home. Chapers 27-45.
1. Here

AN: This is my imaginative take on what happened after the season 2 finale. Guess this is kinda spoilerish for the actual eppy, so if you didn't see "Stargazer in a Puddle" yet, you may not want to read this.

AN2: I'm working on another fanfiction, so update time won't be as fast (not that _Boom_ has been going that fast either).

**Chapter One: Here**

"Geez, Zach, aren't you dying with that hat? It's like 100 degrees in the shade."

Zach Addy frowned and patted down his ridiculous Mohawkish wool hat, answering, "If I were dying, I wouldn't be sitting here with you guys."

"Well, hat aside, I'm glad you decided not to go to Iraq," Hodgins replied while taking a huge swig of water. "Damn, it's hot as hell out here."

Booth and Brennan came and sat down on the grass beside Zach. "Nice hat, kid," Booth chuckled. Brennan looked at Zach questioningly and asked, "Aren't you hot?" Angela and Cam followed, each bringing pitchers of water.

Zach felt his throat tighten. Maybe he was thirsty after all. "Actually, I am feeling slightly dehydrated…" He reached out for the water but the pitchers Angela and Cam had brought were already empty. Zach grimaced as he became soaked in his own sweat. He looked at Hodgins, feeling weak suddenly.

"Jack, I need water…"

Hodgins ignored him, the half-empty glass of water forgotten. Zach reached out, but instead of grabbing it, his hand went right through.

As if it wasn't there.

The five of them turned suddenly, facing Zach with empty eyes. "You should have stayed…"

* * *

Zach blinked, the blaring Arabian sun beating down on his bruised and bloodied flesh. His left hand reached out into space, grasping at his water-glass mirage. He groaned and set his arm back down on the dried and cracked floor of his prison. His lips were blistered and bloody, his throat tight and constricted. He tried moving, but his lower back screamed in pain. Closing his eyes again, he willed himself to pass out, to escape the pain and the heat.

And to not remember what had happened to him.

He never should have come to Iraq.


	2. Touched

**Chapter Two: Touched**

_Hodgins couldn't believe what he had read. _

_At first, he had thought the envelope was Zach's written answer to whether or not he'd be Best Man or not at the wedding. That would have been so… 'Zachish'--making everything more complicated than what was necessary. Instead of seeing an anticipated 'Yes', or hell, even a 'No', Hodgins' eyes encountered the President's seal._

_Which in Hodgins' mind, never was a good thing._

"_Iraq?…You can't go to Iraq."_

_Zach had paused momentarily and answered, "The President is asking me personally."_

"_No, not personally, the President has a machine to sign for him. He's probably talking to every forensic anthropologist in the country. You can't go to Iraq--no, no way, you stay here and you be my best man, you let someone else go," Hodgins urged._

"_He says I'm at the forefront of my field, that my country needs me."_

"_You can't go to Iraq, Zach, you be my best man or not."  
_

_Zach had looked at the other man and firmly reply, "No."_

_A look of hurt and confusion had passed Hodgins' face. "Why?"_

"_Because if I decide to do what the President wants, and go to Iraq and get killed, you wouldn't be able to remember your wedding with happiness," Zach had said matter-of-factly._

"_Okay big assumption there, buddy."_

"_Rationally speaking, I'm not good at social ritual. You should ask Booth," Zach had reasoned._

"_Everything isn't rational."_

"…_It should be."_

* * *

"So when are we hearing from the Boy Genius?" Hodgins grumbled.

"Either tomorrow or the day after," Cam answered briskly.

"I tried talking him out of it."

"I know."

"I don't know why he went. Kid can't order breakfast at the diner without screwing up," Hodgins remarked.

Cam sighed and finished filing away their latest solved case. She said slowly, "I think there's something more to Zach than what meets the eye. A few weeks ago I ragged on him for not realizing the bones he had used to be people--I ended up calling him Igor. Him going to Iraq, maybe he needs to prove something."

"Or maybe it'll just look good on his resume," Hodgins snorted.

"Not funny. He gave Booth his letter from the President. Said that Booth knew more about honor and bravery more than anyone else Zach knew. Still think he went over there because someone merely asked him?" Cam questioned.

Hodgins sighed and shook his head. "I didn't meant it like that. It's just that I'm worrying about him. He's Zach."

"I understand. When he calls, I'll make sure you have ample time to yell at him," Cam smiled.

She stood and turned to leave, but not before adding, "When you did try to talk him out of it, you made him realize that people care for him more than they let on."

"How touching," Hodgins joked.

Cam shrugged her shoulders and grinned, "More than you think. It's memories like that which keep people going in hard times."

"Yeah," Hodgins answered, "let's just hope he isn't having too many troubles over there."

* * *

Somebody tossed a bucket of filthy warm water on Zach's motionless body, causing him to jerk awake. Through blurred vision, he frantically scooped up the muddy water before it seeped into the sand completely. He drank from his hands, his body shaking with exhaustion, pain, and dehydration. The water was gritty, and in the back of his mind he knew it was teeming with microbes, but he didn't care. Water was water.

Past the bars of his temporary prison, a man in heavily accented Arabic barked, "We want you alive, boy."

"My name's Zach, not boy. But you can call me Dr. Addy," he retorted defiantly.

The other man paused, his six foot frame becoming stiff with anger. Without warning, he kicked through the wide spaces of the bars, nailing Zach in the head and knocking him out cold.

"Have it your way, Dr. Addy."


	3. Dirty Hole

AN: Special shout-out to my whole two reviewers, Kasper and xLooneyMoonyLupinx. LOL, on with the show.

AN2: Reviews make the writer one veddy happy soul )

**Chapter Three: Dirty Hole**

_Tap, tap, tap…_

Cam sighed as she continued typing up reports on cases the Jeffersonian's team had solved. It was undoubtedly the quietest, most boring day she had in what seemed like forever. She kind of enjoyed it. Booth and Brennan weren't bickering. Angela and Hodgins weren't anywhere in sight. _Must be taking full advantage of Cleopatra's bed…_and Zach wasn't building a race of robots to overtake the world.

She frowned, thinking of Zach. The lab wasn't the same without him. He was too far away from home. Sighing again, she checked her watch, wondering when the team would get a call from him in Iraq.

As if on cue, her office line rang. Smiling, knowing if it were Zach, Hodgins would have yet another field day teasing him on the phone.

"Dr. Saroyan of the Jeffersonian Institute."

"Uh, yes, Dr. Saroyan, my name is Lt. Don King. I'm calling from Base Salinger in Iraq," a gruff voice answered.

Cam frowned, first because that man was definitely not Zach, and second, Base Salinger was where Zach was supposed to be staying.

"Uh, yes, how can I help you," Cam asked, suddenly nervous.

"I'm afraid to report Dr. Zach Addy is missing."

Dead silence.

Cam shook her head and demanded, "I'm sorry, did you just say 'missing'?"

She didn't need to see King's grimace, she heard it in his voice as he explained, "He and one other forensic anthropologist--a Dr. Sarah Mitchells--along with some guards and diggers went out to a suspected mass grave of people killed ten years ago when Saddam's--"

"I could honestly care less about the grave site, tell me about Zach," Cam snapped.

"They left yesterday morning to the location fifty miles west of base camp. When they didn't come back, we sent out a convoy…we found a massacre," King finished quietly.

"Oh, God…"

"We suspect it was a terrorist group trying to keep the grave secret. Dr. Addy's body was not found with Mitchells' or the others. We will contact the Jeffersonian again when we have more information," King quickly added, obvious he no longer wanted to talk to Cam.

"Wait, that's it?! What are you doing there? You should be out looking for him if he still may be alive! What is wrong with you?" Cam grilled.

"I'm sorry Dr. Saroyan, we're doing everything we can."

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before," she sneered as she slammed the phone down.

_Calm down, breathe. You worked up will make the others panicked. _

"Dr. Saroyan, is something wrong?"

Cam looked up to find Hodgins and Angela, concern plastered on their faces.

She quietly answered, "Yeah. Something's wrong."

* * *

Zach felt himself being lifted by rough hands. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried feigning unconsciousness. It seemed to have worked because he continued being carried somewhere. He strained to hear anything to indicate where he was being taken. The two men stopped suddenly. Before he had a chance to react, he felt the two pairs of hands release him. Instead of falling a short two or so feet as he expected, he continued dropping for a full fifteen feet.

He landed on hardened clay which elicited a loud groan. Tears sprang from his eyes as previous injuries were renewed. A shooting pain made his wrist throb in agony. He hears his captors laugh at him as he brought his arm to his chest. _Broken scaphoid and capitate bones…obviously the least of my worries._ He looked around him and he realized he was no longer in the open-sky jail cell. Instead, he was thrown into a pit about ten feet wide.

"American, we needed the cell. You like it better here anyway. Be here with friends," one of his captors shouted.

_Friends?_

Zach searched the darkness and thought he spotted a figure hunched on the other side of the pit. He painfully crawled his way over, calling out, "Are you okay?"

With no response, he tried shaking the person with his good arm. He turned the other person over to find rotting flesh and maggots. Zach stumbled back as the skull rotated and fell off, the yellow bone poking out. The stench became overwhelming and Zach felt himself growing sick. He felt his hand push down on something squishy and wet. He jumped back to find a more recent body, a young woman who had her brains blown out. To his left, a young child stared blankly at him, two bullet wounds in his tiny back.

Zach realized he was in an execution dump.

And he screamed.


	4. Pretty When You Cry

**Chapter Four: Pretty When You Cry**

"Jesus…"

"What do you mean missing?"

"But…he can't…it's Zach…"

"He never should have gone…oh, Christ, it's on the news--"

Jack fumbled to turn up the volume on the television while Cam, Angela, and Brennan and Booth crowded around silently, cold shock setting in with the latest news about Zach.

"…yes, Bob, we do have quite a heat wave," the anchorwoman smiled sweetly before continuing, "Now to our next story on Dr. Zachary Uriah Addy, a forensic anthropologist employed at the Jeffersonian Institute here in D.C. Dr. Addy left for Iraq several weeks ago with a group of the nation's top archaeologists…"

"Anthropologists, get it right, you moron," Hodgins snapped. "How'd the hell they find out about this anyway?"

Booth shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Anyone. Zach's family, someone in Iraq, who knows."

"…and officials state that Dr. Addy is now missing after the massacre discovered by U.S. soldiers fifty miles away from Base Salinger. It is unclear if Dr. Addy is suspected to have survived…"

"You never said anything about a massacre," Brennan demanded to Cam. The initial shock of Zach's disappearance had suddenly worn off. Booth shoved his hands in his pocket nervously, not sure of what to say. Hodgins didn't even bother looking up at the two women, his stare was fused with the television. Angela had begun biting her nails and gaze at the floor numbly.

"I didn't want you to panic," Cam defended herself.

"But this is Zach!" Angela suddenly cut in, fighting back tears.

Booth stepped forward and said quietly, "Look…I'll do what I can to find out what happened. In the meantime, I need you guys to be calm. Zach's missing--not dead." Grimly, in the back of his mind, he noted he wouldn't be able to do much.

And civilians who were MIA was just about the same thing as being killed.

* * *

Angela's hands shook as she tried getting a glass of water. It had been roughly three hours after hearing about Zach. All she and the others knew, was that he went out into the desert, and he never came back. In fact, none of the other anthropologists returned alive...

Suddenly feeling nauseous, she threw up in the sink.

"Angela?"

Hodgins heard her heaving and he ran over to her, concerned. Wiping the sweat off her forehead with a towel, he waited until she was finished before asking, "Are you okay? Do you want me to get anything? Let me get you something for your stomach--"

"No," Angela coughed. She wiped her mouth and rinsed the foul taste out of her mouth. He looked at her questioningly and she grimaced, "It's bad for the baby."

Hodgins mouth dropped.

"Baby?"

Angela nodded.

"I--I'm going to be dad?" he asked again, excitement and sheer joy rushing through his veins, replacing the numbness that had settled there after hearing Zach was missing.

Angela stifled a sob and shook her head. Hodgins embraced tightly, even more confused. "But…but, why are you crying…oh my God, I'm going to be a dad? How long have you known? Ange, what's wrong, please tell me."

Angela spit out, "I wa-wa-want to tell you, but I can't right now…" she started sobbing into his shoulder. They sat down together on the couch while Hodgins wracked his mind, trying to figure out what was wrong.

As he rocked her gently, he asked, "Is it because we aren't technically married yet?"

He heard her snort, and he smiled knowing he was able to make her laugh a little today. "No, that's not it…" he heard her whisper.

The need to know ached so much in Hodgins' heart, he didn't know what to say. Biting back more questions, he replied, "Okay, okay, shhh. It's been a long day. Seriously long. You don't have to tell me what's wrong, just know when you're ready, you can tell me anything."

She nodded against his shoulder and Hodgins whispered, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"You know, you're pretty when you cry. But you're beautiful when you smile," Hodgins added.

He felt her sigh and she answered, "I'm sorry, Jack."

"Hey babe, don't be. Long day, remember?"

She sat up and looked into his eyes, pulling herself together. She couldn't do this to him, couldn't tell him what she knew was in stock for the future. He deserved so much better than that. Angela stood and kissed the top of his head.

She wasn't going to tell him anything.


	5. I'm Dying

Brennan sat in front of her computer, the minute hand on her wall clock ticking by idly.

_Kathy should…no that wouldn't happen in real life. Besides all my villains sound the same…ooh, maybe make her an unknowingly accomplice in Andy Lister's car accident…Jesus, that makes for one very horrible melodramatic plotline…I wonder what Booth would think…Zach would have said the same thing…_

_Zach…_

Blowing out air, Brennan quickly closed the word document, unable to begin her next novel. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back in her chair.

_Zach. What happened to you?_

The lab's atmosphere had grown somewhat stale since his leaving, but with the news that he was missing in hostile territory turned the Jeffersonian and the people in it hollow. Brennan, whom had felt outraged earlier, now felt detached about his disappearance.

Because there was nothing she could do to change what happened.

_But you can do something now…_

Brennan opened her eyes, contemplating. What could she do about Zach's disappearance? He obviously hadn't tried to contact them, Lt. King and the others at Base Salinger weren't giving out anymore information, and there weren't any survivors from the attack.

_The likelihood Zach is dead too is more than probable…_

"Oh, shut-up," she cursed her thoughts. Hell, she knew she owed him one. Without Zach (or the others for that matter) she and Hodgins would have been stuck in that car, underground, until someone stumbled upon their rotten corpses. Zach hadn't given up, even though at one point, he was sure the air had been depleted.

He still looked for her and Hodgins.

Brennan needed to do the same.

_You need to go to Iraq._

"Hey, Bren?"

Brennan looked to her doorway to find Angela holding a file. "I need a favor."

Clearing her throat Brennan stood and answered, "Sure, what is it?"

"I need to know what you think of these scans," Angela said while pulling out multiple MRI scans. "I know what's up with them, but I need a second opinion. I need to hear a new voice, and not some old cantankerous bastard who thinks having a doctorate in medicine automatically makes him God."

Brennan snorted at her friend's comment. "Well, after that point who could say no?" she teased. Angela handed over the scans wordlessly. Brennan held the sheets to the light and studied them for a moment while Angela took a seat on the couch and watched her best friend. Seeing Brennan do her magic and process information faster than Angela could make a pencil mark on a sketchboard, Angela couldn't help but smile sadly. Rubbing her forehead, she waited for Brennan's analysis.

"Looks like our victim had brain cancer. It appears as if the tumors were benign at first, but more than 90 percent of the mass has turned malignant. You can see how it's starting to spread further down the brain stem…" Brennan paused and showed Angela certain spots where the cancer had indeed spread. Brennan paused again and said, "I don't know much more about this…I don't know what type or how advanced the cancer it--"

"It's brain stem glioma, stage II," Angela supplied.

"Oh…how'd you know that?" Brennan asked impressed. _Looks like Angela has a deeper knowledge of the brain cavity, Could help us on future cases…_

But she caught Angela staring at the floor, her eyes dark and heavy. Something wasn't right.

"Ange?"

Without bothering to look up, Angela whispered, "Sweetie…they're not MRIs of a victim." She looked up and finished, "They're mine."

Brennan felt the MRIs slip out of her hands and flutter to the floor. "But…what?"

Angela swiped her eyes quickly and explained, "Years back, I went to the hospital because I was having major migraines. It turned out the problem was easily treatable, but the MRIs found benign tumors, like you said, in my brain stem. I've been going back for check-ups. One month ago, the doctors told me the tumors were spreading."

Angela coughed and added, "I'm dying."

Brennan shook her head and swallowed. She bent down with shaking arms and gripped Angela in a tight embrace. "Don't you ever say that again," Brennan sniffled. "You'll be okay. You will be." Anglea hugged her back, and couldn't hold back her emotions any longer. Soon Brennan felt her shoulder become wet with her friend's tears.

Rocking her softly, Brennan said gently, "I'm so sorry, Ange. You're amazingly strong-willed, I know once you start treatment, you'll have a fighting chance. And I know Hodgins will get you the best--"

"Jack doesn't know," Angela blurted.

Brennan looked at her incredulously. "Why?"

"I didn't tell anyone more, because what was the point? They weren't hurting anything. And now...I just can't tell him yet…Bren, he's going to be a dad," Angela explained.

Brennan stared at her, not quite understanding. "But why would that stop you getting treatment…oh…"

"It'll hurt the baby," Angela supplied, her voice quavering. "I'm a month and a half pregnant."

Brennan's mind raced with the new information. _Angela going to be a mother. Chemo will kill the child. Hodgins doesn't know about the cancer. No chemo, it'll kill Angela. But baby may live._ And for once, Brennan couldn't formulate something to say.

So she cried with her best friend.

* * *

"How long are we keeping the American?"

Zach was brought out of sleep by the sound of harsh voices. He had rolled up into a ball, and placed his head onto his chest, avoiding the sight of the grisly bodies.

"As long as it takes."

"Until…"

"Until I think of a demand and send it out."

_Demand? _

If Zach would have had the strength, he would have felt furious. His friends, colleagues--they were killed not because they were identifying victims of war crimes and genocide, but because of a ransom? He closed his eyes, trying to will the hard facts away. There was no valiance or honor for those who were killed at the site. People died with the truth, so conclusively, their lives were meaningless. And as for his…why was he the only one spared? Surely there had to be a rational reason…

_Not everything is rational..._

"But won't someone look for him while you think?" The reply was sarcastic, and Zach recognized it to belong to the man who had kicked him one night. He knew he needed to tread lightly around this person.

"They think the boy is dead. And if they find otherwise, we leave them like the others," the other man answered. It was at this point that Zach recognized this man had a slight British accent. _That answers why they aren't speaking Arabic, but not why a English person is holding me captive._

_It doesn't matter anymore. The reasons don't matter._

"Understood," Zach heard the other man answer. The two men left, leaving Zach in his little chunk of hell. The firelight above him began to die down, and Zach closed his eyes again, not even bothering to move from his original position. His wrist still throbbed painfully because he had nothing to support it. His cuts and lacerations cried in protest when he moved. His bruises were tender and his lower back still ached to a point of almost being unbearable.

"I'm going to die here," he whispered to himself, his throat cracked and dry.

"I'm going to die," he said again, starting to shake.

For the first time since childhood, he felt tears starting to slip from his eyes.

"I'm going to die…" he started rocking himself, ignoring the pain that came with moving. Crying into the night, not caring about the consequences, he screamed, "I want to go home!" The tears were flowing freely, his breaths coming in short choppy gasps. After several minutes, he began to feel himself calm down, but he knew sleep wouldn't claim him that night. Shaking his head grimly, he knew only one thought would occupy his mind.

_God, I'm going to die...and I don't want to._


	6. Flames

AN: Hey, I'm back. Updates should come more frequent now that I'm on summer vacation!

AN2: Reviews feed the soul, and I particularly liked Kasper's input for the last chapter-- "All aboard for the angst train! Next stop, WHAT THE HELL!!"

**Chapter Six: Flames**

Booth was just about to knock on Brennan's apartment door when he heard a loud crash, followed by a curse. He drew his gun, instantly on alert. "Bones! You okay?!" She had left the Jeffersonian early, and apparently that occurred…never. He had come to check on her, concerned.

The door opened and he found a frazzled Brennan. "I knocked over a lamp trying to reach a suitcase. Sorry."

He smirked and put away his gun, ignoring how Brennan raised her eyes mockingly at his jumpiness. He followed her in, asking, "Suitcase?"

"Booth, did you need something?" she asked while she headed back to her bedroom.

He frowned and followed her, but stayed outside her door. He'd seen her bedroom several times, but never once stepped inside. It was like sacred ground, though he'd never admit it aloud, there were several dream occurrences where he was doing a helluva lot more than stepping in. He shook his head--she was his best friend and partner for Christ's sakes!

"Pull yourself together," he told himself quietly. Brennan picked up on it and looked at him quizzically.

He waved his hand in disregard, and she asked again, "What's up?"

"You had me worried. What's wrong?" he asked.

_A lot…_she thought grimly. She contemplated telling Booth about Angela's pregnancy and cancer. If anyone else had asked, she wouldn't have opened up about the burden she now carried. But yet…even though she trusted Booth with everything, this was still breaking best friend-confidentiality. Brennan sighed, torn. She hated psychology, but even she acknowledged that it would be best to vent.

"I found out a friend of mine is pregnant, but she has brain cancer. She's keeping it from her husband as long as she can, for his sake," Brennan said quietly while she threw clothes in the suitcase.

Booth's face fell and he murmured, "Oh shit, Bones. I'm sorry. Is that why you're leaving? To see your friend?"

Brennan shook her head. Booth picked up the sense she was hiding something from him. "Well?" he prompted, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

"Booth…" Brennan exhaled, somehow knowing what his reaction would be. "I'm going to find Zach."

She watched as his jaw dropped and his brown eyes widen. "Bones, you can't go to Iraq."

Brennan gave a mirthless laugh. "And why is that, Booth? Because it's dangerous?"

"No, because you have no idea what happened. No one does. We don't know if he's alive or dead, where he is--you have an entire country to look in…oh, yeah, it's absolutely, most definitely one of the most dangerous places for you to go right now," Booth retorted, his voice thick with dread.

"I've been in Iraq before," she said simply.

"Yeah, and so have I, and that's obviously not the point. You can't just decide to go into a war zone and try finding a corpse--" Booth stopped after a wave of pain crossed her face. His heart was in his throat and he felt sick. "I'm sorry, Tempe. I didn't mean it like that…"

She sat on the bed and sighed. Booth swallowed and stepped past the unspoken boundary. She didn't look up as he sat next to her. "Look," he began, "you're my partner, but you're also my best friend. Knowing that you're going into a situation like this scares the shit out of me. And for me personally, the last time I was in Iraq I ended up in rehab for almost a year."

Brennan nodded, remembering the first time she looked at his x-rays after he lost a fight with her bomb-rigged refrigerator. She knew he carried with him more than the scars on his body.

"Booth…this is just something I need to do. We can't wait here while Zach is out there," she exhaled, feeling drained.

"I don't like this," he said, looking at the floor.

"I know. I just thought I get a little more support from you," Brennan added, feeling a little hurt.

She saw him close his eyes and shake his head. His jaw was tight and Brennan could see him slowly unclench his fists.

"When are you leaving?" he almost whispered.

"As soon as I can. Either tonight or tomorrow, but most likely tomorrow," Brennan answered. Wordlessly, he stood and walked back over to her door. They locked eyes for a moment and she could detect fear and sadness. Her own heart flip-flopped. Biting her lower lip, she thought, _This is killing him…I'm probably giving the poor guy an ulcer._

"What about your friend?" he asked.

Brennan closed her eyes and answered, "Watch over Angela for me."

Booth's jaw dropped for the second time that night. He leaned heavily against the doorway and muttered, "Fuck." He nodded and promised, "I will, Bones. I'm so sorry about Ange." He turned to leave, his jaw tight again.

"Hey Booth…" Brennan called, feeling like something was missing. "Is this our goodbye, then?"

Booth cleared his throat, and smiling sadly replied, "Goodbyes bite. Let's say 'until next time'." Before she could answer, he was out the door and gone.

"Until next time," Brennan said to the empty air.


	7. Temptation

**Chapter Seven: Temptation**

Another sun had set. Another day in his own personal hellhole yielded nothing but more thirst, sunburn, and hopelessness. Zach sat against the wall of the pit, staring vacantly into space. The bodies that also occupied the pit just became part of the background, and he was even able to handle the stench after several vomiting spells. On any other circumstance, Zach would have examined the bodies.

"But due to my current situation, I highly doubt that would suffice nothing more than regurgitating what little water and food I was able to obtain," Zach muttered aloud to himself.

"Why don't you try to sound normal and just say 'barf'," a tiny voice whispered to him.

Zach turned his head wearily, letting his arms fall to the dirt uselessly, and found a young boy squatting next to him. His eyes were brown, like the color of chocolate. His skin had been darkened by the Arabian sun and his short cropped hair was nearly black. He gave Zach a grin, showing two baby teeth missing.

"Because I'm not normal," Zach said curtly. The boy shrugged his shoulders and Zach asked, "You don't have an accent, and your English is perfect."

"Boy, aren't you an observer."

Zach frowned and the boy stood to his feet, brushing imaginary dirt off his knees. "I can sound or say whatever you feel like."

Zach groaned, and if it hadn't been for the throbbing headache he already had, he would have banged his skull against the wall. "I'm hallucinating. Again."

"Boy, aren't you an observer."

"Oh, shut your mouth!" Zach growled loudly. The boy looked up as an angry guard commanded, _"Hiduu!"_

Shaking his head, the young child whispered, "You better listen to him, Zach. Silence keeps people alive around here. You don't listen to that soldier up there, you're going to end up like the others down here." Zach closed his eyes and murmured, "You're not real. You're a hallucination, nothing more."

**_"AM I??"_**

Zach jumped as the little boy yelled harshly into his ear. Zach shrank back from the glare of a kid who looked like he was younger than eight. He couldn't believe this. "What do you want?!" Zach hissed back. Squatting back on his haunches, the little boy motioned over sadly to the rotten corpses.

"My father was tortured when he was captured," the boy paused, almost stoically as he continued, "They made him watch my mother die. She was shot in the head. And then…" He paused once more before he turned around. Zach saw two gaping bullet holes in his back. He looked over to the third body in the pit, the youngest and smallest of the bodies.

"And you know what? They died because they tried standing up for something they believed in. Against Saddam and his followers. Death squads came into our house…and it gets a little bit fuzzy after that." Zach remained silent as the boy stood to his feet once more. He walked away from Zach and added, "Isn't that why you're here? To identify us? And the hundreds of others like me, nameless and rotting in unmarked graves?"

Zach whispered, "Yes."

The boy nodded, and looked up at the darkening sky. "I hope you succeed. Good luck, Zach."

Zach blinked and the child was gone, instantly. He whipped his head to the body of the young boy and grimaced. "What was your name…" Shaking his head, he gripped his hair. _I'm about to have a nervous breakdown…wonderful, maybe if I go insane, they'll hurry up and just kill me already…_

But he highly doubted he'd have to wait much longer. Reaching into his pants pocket, he felt a small sense of relief as he pulled out a crumpled notepad of paper. A small stub of pencil was pushed through the spiral loop. It was enough for what he wanted to write.

"_My name was Dr. Zachary Uriah Addy, and I was a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington D.C., USA. Today's date is close to June 20th, 2007. I am 24 years old, and was born in Mayfield, Michigan…"_

He scratched out what he had written and tore the page out. It didn't seem right. These were the last words anyone would ever read by him. He needed to make it matter.

"_My name was Dr. Zachary Uriah Addy, and I worked as a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington D.C. Please tell my associates Dr. Temperance Brennan she was the best teacher I could ever ask for, tell Ms. Angela Monternegro that I know one day her art will be marveled at internationally and that her friendship was valued to the end, tell Dr. Jack Hodgins that I apologize for not…"_

With frustration, Zach ripped that note out of the pad and threw it angrily at the opposite wall. Even in his head, he sounded so damn impersonal. It seemed the more he wrote the more robotic he grew. He couldn't do that to his friends, even if he was lucky enough to be found after he was killed.

Looking blankly at the paper, he felt a few tears slip from his face. _I miss them all so much…how can I do this to them…_

His family. His friends. The victims like the little boy. Trying to fit his life onto a little piece of paper in mechanic phrases as if it were nothing did nobody justice.

So he wrote only six words instead.

"_My name is Dr. Zach Addy." _

* * *

"I'll have another shot, pleadess…" Hodgins slurred. A thin, leggy blonde with eight layers of make-up soothed, "Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry you feel like this." She looked at him with mischievous eyes and suggested, "Want me to make you feel better?" 

Hodgins looked at her, and asked, "Who you, again?"

She smiled, and placed a hand on his thigh. "Whoever you want me to be. But until later, I'm Leah."

Hodgins took a long hit off her wine, and mumbled, "You'd never keep anything from me, right?"

Leah leaned on the table, her breasts practically crushed against Hodgins. "No, of course not, baby. Your old lady keeping something from you?"

"I know--I KNOW who really shot JFK. I know about Area 51. But _she_ won't tell me what's wrong. And da--the only thing I can think of, is that the baby ain't mine…" Hodgins shook his head forcefully. In his mind, it seemed logical. Why else would she be upset about the pregnancy? _She must've cheated._

"Ya know what? I'm gonna find out why she was so 'cry'ey' today. Even if it kills me," Hodgins swore drunkenly. Leah pouted and stroked his arm. "It's okay, baby."

Hodgins nodded again, particularly to no one, stars and black spots starting to form around his eyesight. "Another shot, please!" he yelled. Sid looked at him, almost glaring. "You and the others haven't been here in ages, and now you decide to get smashed at my bar. No more tonight, Dr. Hodgins. You've had enough."

Hodgins shook his head, red-brimmed eyes, and muttered, "Fine. I…I'll just go to…a diffint' bar." He stood from the stool and Leah's arm shot out, stopping him. "Come on, Jack. I know a better place we can go…"

"Alright, that's enough," Sid barked from the counter. "Leah, get out of here. Don't think I won't call your daddy. Sgt. Max Richards owes me a favor, and I'm more than willing to spend it getting his daughter's sleazy be-hind outta here."

Leah grimaced and snorted, "Fine, Sid. Leaving."

She left Hodgins, who was beginning to sway on his feet. Shaking his head, Sid reached over and yanked Hodgins back onto the seat. "Unbelievable," he muttered. While he was at it, Sid snatched Hodgins keys.

"Hey!"

"You ain't going anywhere tonight," Sid pointed. Hodgins leaned his head against the bar, groaning. He never lifted it back up. Picking up the phone, Sid dialed a number. Looking at the clock, he realized it was almost midnight. Quite frankly, he didn't care if he was about to piss a certain agent off.

A groggy voice answered, "Booth."

Sid heard Hodgins snoring loudly. Rolling his eyes and sighing, Sid stated, "I need you to come down here."

* * *

Booth rubbed his eyes, not fully awake. He walked into Sid's, the smell of Chinese and incense filling his nose. He missed the place._ Bones and I need to come back here more..._ But the old nostalgic feeling was replaced by irritation and concern when his eyes fell on a blacked-out Hodgins. 

"Great."

Sid gave a curt nod to Booth, and he waved wearily. Coming up next to Hodgins, Booth shook his head and said, "Thanks for calling. I wouldn't want to explain to Angela why his car ended off a bridge."

Sid shrugged his shoulders and explained, "Didn't know who else to call. And about Angela, I hear they going strong?"

Booth nodded as he hauled Hodgins to his feet. A few quick slaps to the face brought Hodgins from sleep, yelling, "Make them tell the truth about Area 51!" Booth rolled his eyes and muttered, "He's back."

"Booth, just to let you know you better knock some sense into Hodgins. He almost went home with a local--a bleach-blonde named Leah," Sid added discretely. Booth raised his eyes and mouthed 'okay'. Hodgins heard it and slurred, "Who's Lee-ah?" He looked up to Booth and asked, "Are you Lee-ah?"

Booth shot an exasperated look to Sid and asked, "You gotta be kidding me?! How much did you give him to drink, Sid?"

"My bad, I know. Let's call it even tonight, alright man?" Sid admitted.

"Fine. But you know better than to get a squint drunk." After bumping knuckles with Sid, Booth started dragging Hodgins out of the bar. "You and I need to have a little talk, Jack."

Once Booth dumped Hodgins into the car and entered himself, he lit up on Hodgins. "What is wrong with you? Did you know you almost cheated? Huh? What the hell happened? Are you asking for a death wish? For someone as smart as you, you can be a capitalized 'Idiot' a lot."

Hodgins leaned his head against the window. "I think I'm going to be sick, Booth."

_Well, at least I'm not Leah anymore…_ "No way. You're about to puke, open the door. No way in hell I'll clean up your mess." Almost instantly Hodgins threw the door open and heaved onto the sidewalk. Booth winced as he heard Hodgins swore and cough. Closing the door, Hodgins leaned back, pale.

"If I start this car, you're not going to throw-up."

Hodgins waved hid hand dismissively. "Don't worry, I'm okay now."

"That wasn't a question, that was an order, Hodgins."

Booth turned the ignition and started heading back to Hodgins' mansion on the other side of D.C. A few tense minutes passed before Hodgins said quietly, "You know Angela's pregnant, right?" Booth's grip tightened on the wheel. He tried to sound casual as he answered, "Yeah, I know. Congradulations, by the way." But even Booth could hear the strain in his voice. _Angela's pregnant with cancer, and Hodgins doesn't know. What a friggin soap-opera. _

"I… I thought she'd be happy. But apparently something's wrong."

_You can say that, _Booth thought grimly.

"Man, I don't want to say it, but I'm scared the baby isn't mine," Hodgins breathed out. Booth slammed the brakes, thankful there was absolutely no traffic at one o' clock in the morning on a Wednesday.

"What the hell?" Hodgins yelled, gripping the seat.

Booth looked at him sternly and said slowly, "Let's get some things straight. Now, I know that you know Angela would never do that. She loves you. More than you could ever realize right now. And what pisses me off, is that I got called and woken up out of much needed sleep to pick up your sorry ass up. Don't get me wrong, I get shit-faced every once in awhile too when things happen…"

He paused, making sure Hodgins was paying attention. Softening his glare, he continued, "Zach was your friend, and he's missing. That would get me to a bar too, no doubt, but I sure as hell wouldn't even be tempted to cheat--"

"Booth, I don't even remember this chick!" Hodgins interrupted.

"That's not the point. You think Angela cheated on you, and that baby isn't yours? Think again. If you conclude that, with you kabillion IQ, then like I said before, you're an idiot."

Hodgins rubbed his head and asked, "If it isn't that, then what the hell is so horrible she can't tell me what's wrong?"

Booth cast his eyes to the steering wheel, feeling guilty. He started driving again and answered, "When she's ready, she'll tell you. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think…" The words felt like fire on his tongue, and he trailed off. Instead of feeling relief to drop the subject, he felt even more guilty when Hodgins agreed, "Oh God, it could be her hormones. I could have really messed up for no reason…"

Booth croaked, "Yeah."

Sighing, Hodgins said quietly, "And you're right about Zach. It's what got me there in the first place, and everything went downhill from there."

Booth didn't say anything.

Glancing over, Hodgins asked, "You know Dr. Brennan's planning on going to Iraq. She's going to try finding him."

The second time that night, Booth's hands clenched on the steering wheel. This time Hodgins caught it. "I figured you'd go with her since you were a sniper and everything…"

"I'm not her bodyguard," Booth snapped. Hodgins, even in his inebriated state could detect more than anger in Booth's voice.

"You're scared."

"And you're hammered," Booth muttered.

Hodgins pointed his finger at Booth and accused, "Wow, Mighty Ranger is scared."

Booth clenched his jaw and firmly stated, "I am not scared. I've been there, and I've seen worse things in this city than what I've seen over there."

Hodgins was unconvinced. "You can't even say 'Iraq'. You say 'over there'…"

"Aren't you being ballsy. You want to find Zach so much, then why don't you go with Bones?" Booth challenged.

"Because I'm the bug guy. What the hell can I do? Besides, I will admit I don't want to go to Iraq because I would like to die old. And besides, Angela's pregnant. I can't leave her," Hodgins answered smoothly.

"What's stopping you? What are you afraid of?" Hodgins asked again.

"You know what, I'm afraid if you don't shut your mouth I'll let slip to Angela about Leah the Blonde. Got it?" Booth threatened darkly. Hodgins leaned back into the seat, _definitely_ not wanting to press the issue any further.

"Well, I can say Brennan's got more nuts than the both of us combined, going to find Zach," Hodgins said humorlessly. "I hope she finds him. We need our Boy Wonder back. He's too far away from home. But even I know Zach's probably not coming back."

The other man felt shivers go up his spine. He knew Hodgins was more than likely right. Booth sighed and ran his hand down his face. "Far away from home. I'm worried that once Bones goes over there, she'll end up like Zach."

Silence filled the car until Booth pulled up to Hodgins darkened mansion. It was obvious Angela was fast asleep, oblivious Hodgins had even left. Tempting fate as he climbed out of Booth's car, Hodgins replied, "So why don't you follow her?"

Booth looked at Hodgins, not giving him an answer. Clearing his throat, Hodgins gruffly muttered, "Thanks for the ride." Booth pulled out of the driveway, feeling drained. _Damn it, I'm not scared. God knows I'm not…_

There were other reasons keeping him planted on U.S. soil. And he aimed to keep it like that.

But Brennan was going. His Bones was diving headfirst into something deep, he knew that. Coming to the first red light, Booth placed his head on the steering wheel in frustration.

What the hell was he going to do?

* * *

AN: So what's keeping Booth here? Hints next chapter... 


	8. Three Doors

**Chapter Eight: Three Doors**

Staring off into the darkness, Booth had been unable to sleep. Hodgins' words echoed in his head, almost as if good ol' Fate was taunting him once again. "_So why don't you follow her?"_ Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, willing a solution to magically appear and solve his problems instantly. Instead, images of Brennan flitted across his mind. He imagined her under the hot sun, the sandy desert background of Iraq surrounding her. His own memories of his days as a Ranger and sniper mingled in, and the scenery turned into bloodshed. Quickly turning nightmarish, he saw Brennan and Zach lying in a grave somewhere, never to be found. Her beautiful skin was now sickly yellow and bloody, her eyes lifeless and staring vacantly…becoming one of the many dead who were nameless, and ultimately forgotten.

"Christ…" he stood, running a hand over his head in frustration. The grim reality was that his Bones was stepping into something she knew nothing about it. Sure, she had gotten herself into horrible situations before and survived on her own. She had trekked through Tibet avoiding the Chineese Army, been to countless other unstable countries to identify victims, including Iraq, and always managed to come out of it. And though she'd never voice it to anyone, he knew a lot more happened to Brennan when she was in El Salvador than she let on. She had told Angela that her captive made her believe she was going to die, implied through daily threats. True as that may have been, Booth knew captors didn't just threaten and terrify their hostages. They were tortured. They were starved. And if they were women, they were almost always raped. Booth was sure he'd never find out what really happened to Brennan when she was captured, but the masked pain she held in her eyes when she briskly recounted her harrowing time in El Salvador was enough to get Booth suspicious. And that would forever make his blood boil.

His eyes fell on an old and tattered notebook, stuffed between a photo album and his high school yearbook. It was on the bottom shelf of a cabinet in his living room, collecting dust and primarily out of sight from any visitors. Once Parker had gotten a hold of it, and it had taken everything Booth had to not freak out on his son. The notebook was an ugly reminder of his past, and the thought of his son even _touching _it scared him. Yet he kept it, praying he'd never have to open it again.

And it looked like that wish wasn't going to come true.

"Alright, Booth, you got some choices to make," he muttered aloud. "Door number one, you let things run its course and pray _really _hard until Bones comes back." His voice was thick with sarcasm, already knowing this option was unlikely to happen. He couldn't just sit in his apartment sulking and worrying his brains out until she returned, with the Boy Genius or not.

"Door number two, I open that book and pull some strings…" he said quietly. He walked over to the bookcase, tentatively reaching out for the notebook. He paused, contemplating. _Are the numbers and locations and codes still viable after all these years? Would these people even be alive still? And if they are, I know they wouldn't listen to a guy who's more than three thousand miles away. All I'd accomplish would be keeping tabs on Bones. And that's a big maybe. _

"Door number three, I go with Bones," he finished. And that made his heart pound. Hodgins words came back to bite him. Was he scared? No…he was terrified. _But not for the reasons he thinks…_Booth wasn't afraid to die. He had stared into Death's ugly face multiple times, had doled Death out, and worked with Death everyday. This was not a new concept to him. He was, however, scared that he would die and Parker would then become fatherless. Though this fear was present every time he went out into the field, it was a greater likelihood of coming true going to Iraq. There were things from his past that had remained unfinished, people who wanted him dead and would take every chance they had to exact their revenge. Parker and the nightmares weren't the only things that kept him rooted in front of the shelf.

Ironically, it was Bones herself that frightened him. He hadn't always been able to protect her. The Grave Digger got her, Kenton took her right from everyone else's nose--who was to say he couldn't keep her safe in a military zone? The thought of something bad happening her--and him having to witness it would be unbearable. What if he had to see her die? What if she caught a stray bullet, or got caught in a suicide bomber's wrath? Bones going to Iraq was hard enough for Booth to swallow, but having to watch her die would kill him.

_You're being an idiot, Booth. Capital 'I' Idiot. If you went with her, she'd have a better chance of staying safe. It's not like she doesn't face this same kind of danger when she's with you in the field. You're not going with her because of your own selfish and biased reasons. She's your partner, you're friend. Get over yourself, and go with her…_

Exhaling, Booth gingerly took out the notebook. It was stiff with age, and the front cover was worn. He opened the book, and his eyes fell on numerous names and numbers. Contacts. People from his past as a Ranger. He sat down on his couch, mentally preparing himself for the hours of headaches and gut-wrenching memories that awaited. He picked up the phone and started dialing the first of countless digits.

He chose door number three.

* * *

AN: Sorry about how boring that chapter was compared to others. But it t'was much needed for development. And please, push that review button. 


	9. The Nile's Edge

AN: Posted a chapter last night, FYI. Read and review please!

AN2: Listening to Pink Floyd's "Empty Spaces" so the mood-set for this chapter is kind of creepy, foreboding. Call it a hint for what's to come…

**Chapter Nine: The Nile's Edge**

"_I can't remember darkness…"_

_-Vast_

Zach's eyes fluttered open weakly at the sound of something thudding to the ground next to his battered body, and was surprised to find boots. He looked up and locked eyes with a menacing face--or at least, what Zach imagined would be if it hadn't been for the black mask covering everything except coal-colored eyes and a small, grim mouth. He reached down to Zach, and yanked him roughly from the dirt by his upper arm. Biting back a groan as stiff muscles stretched against wounds, Zach tried to hide the fact his wrist was broken. Unfortunately, his captor noticed how it dangled uselessly, even with makeshift wraps. He grinned wickedly and squeezed Zach's wrist--hard. The strangled plead, _stop_, formed on Zach's mouth, but instead turned to a cry of agony. He sank to his knees, involuntary tears springing from his eyes. Seconds ticked by, but it felt like hours for the young scientist. Just as black spots started to invade his vision, he felt the other man release his wrist. Cradling his arm to his chest, Zach felt himself growing sick.

_Can't vomit…hold it in, he'll crunch your wrist again as punishment…_

On shaky legs, Zach stood himself up, fighting his roaring stomach. His captor shoved him toward a rickety ladder, and in a rough, heavily accented voice, demanded, "Up! Now!" Zach flinched at the sudden yells, but began climbing out of the pit. A gun barrel was pressed against his back, and he swallowed hard. Just by the weight and size, Zach knew it was military issued. _That's definitely an incentive, _he thought grimly.

Struggling up the ladder, Zach detected firelight, a cool breeze, and the smell of the night air…and that was it. A sudden spark of hope jumpstarted his brain. He could hear no other people, no footsteps or voices. _If the man below me is alone, I have a better chance of getting away…_

Zach felt his hands reach the top of the pit. He could have cried with relief, being out of the execution dump. He collapsed on the sand outside the hole, allowing his body to rest. He was alarmed at how much energy it had taken him to climb up the ladder, but he placed the blame on prolonged exposure, his newly tortured wrist, and previous injuries. Scanning his surroundings, he found a bonfire, the outside wall of the compound he had originally been held in, a parked jeep about twenty feet away, and a tripod and camera set.

But no people.

His eyes went to the jeep as his captor jumped out of the hole, seconds after Zach had. Seeing Zach lying on the ground, helpless, irritated the masked man. He lifted his foot and sharply kicked Zach in the thigh. "Get up, or I kick something else." Zach rose to his knees, but it wasn't enough. He felt a heavy boot slam into his back, which sent him sprawling towards the fire. He covered his face, protecting it from the heat. He was a few inches from burning embers, and the heat made his eyes water. Zach heard the other man laugh darkly as he passed from sight. It was then he saw a glint of metal shine off the fire, and his eyes widened as he realized what it was.

They were the keys of the jeep, dangling from the ignition.

The masked man came back into view, hauling the camera set with him. He understood that he was about to be filmed in a ransom demand. That was his captor's original plan, which was why he was still alive. But after this was done, anything could happen. They could kill him immediately after the camera stopped rolling. Zach exhaled shakily, trying to formulate a plan. His brain was firing blanks, and if he wasn't so terrified of angering his captor, he would have sworn loudly. He looked back to the jeep, and the closeness of the vehicle angered him. It was like it was taunting him, mocking Zach for his inability to get away and ride far off into the desert. The fire flickered off the metal casting dark shadows, and for a second, Zach was entranced by the sight.

And in that moment a purely simple plan came to mind.

He almost laughed.

Zach picked himself back onto his knees, ignoring the hard glare from his captor and the shifting of the weapon. Zach readied himself, taking one more glance around to ensure no one else was outside the compound. The masked man approached Zach, taking out rope and a blindfold from his back pockets. As he knelt to tie Zach's hands, that was the time he had to set his escape plan into motion. With his good arm, he quickly scooped up the glowing embers from the fire, ignoring the lancing pain he experienced as the red-hot debris burned his hand. A second later he threw the coals and embers at the man's eyes, and was more than satisfied to hear a shriek of surprise and agony. Zach kicked the gun out of the injured man's hands, sending the weapon out of reach. Half stumbling, half running, Zach pushed past the fallen captor towards the jeep. His hand felt like it was on fire, and he was already gasping with exertion, but it looked like he was going to make it…

Five feet from the jeep door, a single gunshot pierced the air.

Zach felt a sledgehammer pound and burn its way through his lower back. His legs gave out and he slammed to the ground, feeling as if someone had jabbed a spear into his back. He couldn't move, and with every breath he struggled to take caused a rattling, ripping sensation. He weakly reached up towards the jeep, the words 'failure', 'defeat', and 'death' flashing through his brain.

And that was it. He had failed.

Zach collapsed back onto the ground. His ears dimly picked up more voices, but his vision was starting to dim out. Blood seeped into the sand. Zach felt his cheeks become wet. He couldn't think, couldn't speak. Someone tapped him with a smoking gun barrel, and Zach didn't even bother trying to flinch away. Another pair of feet impeded his sight.

"_He's alive, Roman."_

"_We can still use him then. If he survives..."_

The last voice was British-accented. Zach closed his eyes, keeping a surge of questions at bay. He felt cold. He stopped fighting consciousness, and allowed the blackness to take him away from this ugly place.

He never remembered a time when the world had turned so dark.

* * *

AN: Uh-oh...cliffie, I guess? Push that review button, and I'll write faster, lol 


	10. Somewhere Else to Be

AN: Been posting chapters left and right, so go back and double check the chapters to make sure you read them.

**Chapter Ten: Somewhere Else to Be**

Brennan leaned against the windows of the Baltimore-Washington International airport, increasingly becoming impatient. Her flight had been delayed for over two hours due to inclement weather. She closed her eyes, keeping a guffaw in about the 'inclemency' part of Mother Nature. When Brennan first arrived at the terminal, the announcer made it seem the storm would pass in a few minutes…opening her eyes again, she couldn't help but feel a flare of anger at the irony. The skies were the color of slate, with patches of coal. Every few seconds flashes of lightning cut through the opaqueness of the cloud cover, followed by the crash of thunder. Rain pounded on the ground, washing away the earth. It seemed like the sky was falling down around her, and there was nothing she could do to change it. And that was another feeling she despised. The sense of urgency in her head and stomach quickened with every minute she was stuck, waiting to board the plane. Zach was somewhere out there, and with the wasted time spent pacing and groaning, she could have been one step closer to bringing him home…

_Brennan, _she warned herself, _you have to find him first before you get your hopes up. And that's…that's even if he's alive. And statistically about now…_ Fighting a sudden sense of panic, she breathed aloud, "It isn't good."

"Nothing ever is," a soft voice spoke from behind.

Her moment of despair vanished, and that voice was able to replace it with warmth. Smiling, Brennan turned and asked, "I thought you weren't coming."

Booth smirked slightly, and clarified, "I told you goodbyes suck. And I figured you'd miss me too much." She tried to keep a straight face, but it broke into another wide grin. She never realized how happy she was to see Booth. He made her feel safe, and it didn't hurt to have a tough ex-sniper/FBI agent on her side. "You and your ego," she muttered. He flashed her his charm smile, but allowed his face to turn grim again before answering, "Well that, plus I figured I should come, if Zach wants any real chance of being found alive."

Brennan crossed her arms. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Booth mimicked her posture and asked, "You're diving headfirst into something you're not really ready for. I'm curious, what was your grand plan?"

Taken aback by his bluntness, she stammered, "I …I was going to start off by checking with the U.S. Embassy, and if they had heard nothing, go back to the site where the massacre occurred." _What the hell, he was teasing me a second ago…_

Booth started pacing slowly, and explained, "Good plan, except the U.S. Embassy part. Our government won't make compromises with people holding U.S. citizens hostage. Yeah, the Embassy says they'll use every appropriate resource to gain the safe return of American citizens who were either unfortunate enough or stupid enough to get captured, yet, it's a ground rule to deny hostage takers the benefits of ransom, prisoner releases, policy changes, whatever. Basically, Bones, you'll get nowhere."

Frowning, Brennan challenged, "I understand that, but we really have no evidence documenting Zach was taken hostage. There's no proving or denying it, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to try--"

"That's where you're wrong," Booth finished. She looked at him incredulously. "What aren't you telling me, Booth?"

Stepping closer, Booth began, "You're staying at a hotel where everyone knows you'll be, including the people who murdered the other anthropologists. You have no weapons waiting when you arrive. The people at Base Salinger don't even know you're coming, not that they'd help you anyway. You need me to find Boy Wonder."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She saw a flash or reluctance pass his face before clarifying, "I pulled some strings last night. Made a lot of calls to people over in Iraq. I have us set up at a place that's under the radar, and we won't be fighting blind or defenseless. I have some weapons waiting for us when we get there--"

"You're giving me a gun?"

"--so don't accidentally shoot me," Booth ordered, but the charm smile was back on his face for a few seconds. "I knew you wouldn't be allowed to bring your gun along, so I took the liberty of getting you one for there."

Brennan gave him a small smile in thanks. Booth continued, "And I also _might _have a name of someone who witnessed the massacre…Bones, from what I was able to find out, Zach was taken hostage as a warning. I don't know what that is yet, but it means he was very much alive when he was taken."

Booth watched as a small weight was lifted off his partner's heart. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing the chances of Zach being alive just increased. Unfortunately, Booth could not share that same relief with Brennan. He felt growing dread in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard. _Get a grip on yourself, Booth. You managed to put her at ease, so don't blow it by having her ask questions with unwanted answers._ He gave Brennan a tight smile, and was dismayed to see she was staring at him intently. It was like she was analyzing a bone.

"Booth," she began slowly, "I can't help but think you're holding something else back. I mean, you would have found all this information about Zach and the witness the minute we got word on his disappearance. Not to mention you were so steadfast earlier about not liking what I was planning to do."

He stiffened and she bit her bottom lip. "I just got in touch with some old contacts. From when I was a Ranger. They gave me the information." His voice was hollow, and Brennan felt guilty about grilling him. He was helping her, she shouldn't have confronted him. _But I need to know._

"What's the catch, Booth?"

He stared at her, and she could detect how uncomfortable he was becoming. His cheeks flushed red, and her heart sank when she realized it was shame.

"It's just…I didn't contact those people before because I knew they wouldn't help. There was nothing in it for them." His eyes were cast to a very interesting speck of dust on the floor. "Now that they know I'm coming, they have initiative."

"I don't understand," Brennan asked, her pitch up an octave. _What isn't he telling me? I'm his best friend and partner! We're supposed to share things…_

Sighing, Booth finally answered, "Word gets around. Fast. People who wanted me dead seventeen years ago know I'm coming back to Iraq. Get the picture?"

Brennan's mouth dropped as she understood. "Oh my God, Booth…what are we going to do about that?"

"_We _are doing nothing about them, _I'll _deal with it, okay?" He placed a hand on the small or her back and guided her away from the window. Apparently the storm was easing up. They'd be able to board the plane soon. Brennan stepped away from him, concern and a new bout of confusion engulfing her features. She wasn't finished with him.

"Wait…the same people who told you about Zach and are helping us out are the same people who wanted you dead?" Brennan accused.

"Not exactly," Booth answered hurriedly. _Can't she just drop it? _"I have a list of contacts that came to me via mail after I got back into the States. Didn't know who they were from, and I didn't care. I kept them in case I would ever have to go back to Iraq. I did find out down the road that some of the listings were of people involved in my capture…you saw the x-rays. They sure as hell weren't planning on letting me go back then. And the others were people who rescued me. I just don't know who did what."

Brennan swallowed, still reeling over the fact that Booth had placed himself at a huge risk to come with her. She knew Booth was referring to the time he was tortured, all those years ago. She felt shivers run up her spine as she remembered looking at his x-rays. His feet had suffered from multiple breaks and fractures, beaten with pipes and hoses. His ribcage had spread, and she knew Booth had taken a violent punishment meant for someone else before he even admitted it.

"Booth…" she trailed off and diverted her gaze to her feet. _What am I supposed to say? 'Thanks for everything, sorry that I'm giving those bastards an opportunity to brutally torture and kill you?'_

"Hey," he said softly. He placed a finger under her chin and gently lifted her face. A year ago, she would have kicked hiss ass to high Heaven and back for such a gesture. But now…she had let him in past the walls. He had to make sure he didn't screw it up. "Don't feel guilty. I'm here on my own will. Besides, did you really think I'd sit and twiddle my thumbs and miss out on all the action?"

She chuckled quietly, and a smile lit up his face. "That's my girl."

He turned from her, and her stomach did an odd flip-flop. She feared for him. At the same time, she felt admiration, and his courage and sacrifice empowered her own will. More than ever, she wanted him by her side. And now he was here.

"Let's get Zach back."


	11. You

AN: Information below is as accurate as the Internet. My apologies if some of the descriptions are wrong.

**Chapter Eleven: You**

The plane touched down at Baghdad IAP. For the most part, the Trans-Atlantic trip was a silent one for Booth and Brennan. Both had knots in their stomachs, and the closer they came to their destination, the more the knots hardened. Brennan's was caused by the doubt and uncertainty of finding Zach. _This isn't like finding a needle in a haystack…it's like finding a needle in Kansas. _Booth's nerves were fraying by the second just because he was stepping foot in Iraq again. _I'm not that guy anymore…it's just the past…too bad __**they**__ haven't changed... And Bones thinks she's Superwoman. Perfect. _What they were doing was dangerous--and he was pretty sure Brennan hadn't fully realized it. In his opinion, she had avoided death herself enough times to get a sense of 'bullet-proof-ness'. Of course, he'd never confront her about it because 1) she was careful most times, minus chasing after the bad guys in the dark, regardless if they were armed and minus karate chopping gang-bangers, 2) they'd start to fight, and 3) he really didn't want to have his ass beat to the ground. So instead, he simply told Brennan, "Bones. You. Need. To. Be. Careful."

"I will. It's not like I haven't been in dangerous situations before," Brennan said lightly.

Booth's jaw tightened for a moment. _You know what? Screw above reasons, I need to get this through her thick skull. _

Before he could say something, it was time to off-board. He decided to hold off on the lecture, and make sure she understood the gravity of their situation for another time. Stepping into the sun, the two were blasted with a heat wave. It wrapped around them tightly as if it were trying to suck the life out of the two.

"Perfect." A muttered swear from Booth.

Brennan scanned her surroundings. A jumbled mass of civilians. Groups of soldiers, both Iraqi and American. And far off into the distance, the desert.

And somewhere out there was Zach.

"_Kid still alive?"_

_Zach blinked awake, his sight glazed over in a red haze. He was placed roughly on a steel table, the metal quickly becoming covered in an inky dark scarlet. The faces above him were blurred, the lights unbelievably bright. If he hadn't known any better, he was dreaming. Even the pain didn't seem real anymore. The agony had reduced to a burning, a throbbing. And the slow leakage of life force continued from his broken body…_

"_Na'am."_

_Arabic. Zach couldn't remember any of the phrases he learned. Everything was entirely too fuzzy…_

_A slap to his face._

_A command in English._

_A gray splotch close to his face. "You should not have run. You are lucky. We still need you alive."_

_What Zach had come to call as the 'Brit' swore. And apparently he couldn't form complicated sentences or contractions, Zach thought sluggishly. _

_A command in Arabic from the Brit._

"_Aani muu dictoor." I am not a doctor._

_A pause._

_Then, "Get the damned bullet before he bleeds out."_

_Movement._

_And the pain suddenly intensified. _

One hundred miles south of Baghdad, a jeep sped along a dirt road. Brennan's hair flew wildly in the wind, the dry heat sucking every ounce of moisture from her skin. Of course they had to get the vehicle with broken air conditioning. But that was the only bad thing. The motel they were staying at was under the radar from anyone whom intended to harm Brennan or Booth, as he had promised. In the back seat laid a M16A2 Rifle for Booth. She however was merely handed a Glock .22 while he was given _another _gun to hide in his jeans.

It was surreal, almost. Booth had led her directly out of the airport to a battered yellow taxi in a back alley. The whole exchange had been silent. Booth gave the taxi driver a thick wad of bills--he gave them the weapons, the keys to the jeep, and the room key to the motel. End of 'conversation.' Brennan had tried not to stare at the driver, but he was missing a left eye. The other was cold and lifeless. Once the twosome had begun driving, Brennan asked, "Who was he?"

Drumming fingers on the steering wheel, Booth answered, "Informant from back in the Gulf War. He played both sides of the fence, but he did more good for our side. I was surprised to hear he was still alive after all these years. Guy's seen his share of hard times."

Brennan thought back to the notebook of contacts Booth had been given. She didn't ask, but she intuitively believed someone sent it to him in case Booth felt the need of revenge. _Probably the informant turned one-eyed taxi driver was the cause of that._ Brennan's thoughts strayed to Booth's past. He had told her very little about it, and she hadn't pressed him on his captivity. She may not have been able to read people well, but who'd be an idiot enough to dredge up a painful past? She could only hope Booth wouldn't have to face more of it.

Then out of the corner of her eyesight, she saw Booth shrugging off his shirt. Her eyes involuntarily widened. Catching Brennan's momentary shock, he challenged, "What? It's hot, I'm dying, you can deal with the skin."

Brennan rolled her eyes and answered, "I've seen better." _That's actually a lie…_a wicked thought that Angela would be proud of crossed her mind, and her cheeks flushed red. What could she say? Booth was structured _very_ well.

"Ouch," Booth muttered several seconds later, not noticing her sudden discomfort. Several thick, tense minutes passed for Brennan before Booth asked, "So what was Zach doing that got him in trouble?"

Brennan exhaled and answered, "I'll give you the shortened version. Trampled Human Rights 101: Since Saddam's regime ended there have been over 250 mass graves reported. In these pits, anywhere from six people to entire villages were massacred by death squads. Victims include Kurds because of their ethnicity, Shiites because of their religion, Sunnis because of political views, men, women, children, the old, the young, and anyone else who got in the way of Saddam's followers. Booth, I've seen some of the bodies. Mothers still clutching babies with shattered skulls from bullets and blindfolded children, it's horrible."

"I know," Booth said softly. And he really did. Some of the people he killed as a sniper had put those women and children in the ground. The ones that Zach and the others were unearthing.

"Around 300,000 Iraqi civilians have 'disappeared' in the last two decades," Brennan continued, her voice tight with disgust. "Now that it's safer, people have been voicing cries for justice. When a mass grave is suspected, a team including an archaeologist, anthropologist, a surveyor, a geologist, a crime-scene officer, technicians, and military support go to the site."

"And Zach was the lucky bastard who got to go that day," Booth muttered.

Brennan didn't comment on that and continued, "What got Zach in trouble…they might have come across a recent one."

"Die-hard loyalists who don't want justice to bite them in the ass?" Booth supplied.

"Exactly. Though most of the Saddam loyalists were killed, captured, or disbanded, societies always has groups of people that follow a darker order. Like Neo-Nazis."

"Well, that, and there's Al-Qaeda," Booth added.

"Much of the carnage today is caused by Al Qaeda. Though much of the killings and terror tactics against civilians occur in populated areas, rural places like this are still very much targeted. Whatever Zach was about to discover, it got people scared," Brennan finished.

Silence.

Booth broke it by asking, "So why was Zach taken alive?"

_Zach jerked upward as he felt instruments digging through his skin, trying to extract the bullet above his hip. Forceful hands slammed him back down, and he released a scream that reverberated off the walls. No painkillers, no anesthesia, Zach wished desperately to either bleed out or black out._

_A final tug._

_A release._

_And the blackout followed. _

A small village broke on the horizon. Brennan frowned in confusion and asked, "I thought we were going to Base Salinger first?"

Booth answered quickly, "I'm trying to avoid that. We'd only accomplish a headache. They were tight-lipped with Cam, what makes you think they'll tell us anything?"

"They're hiding something?"

"Don't go Hodgins-conspiracy-mode on me. It's much simpler than that. They just don't know anything."

"Can't tell what you don't know," Brennan shrugged.

"And, I want to talk to this…" Booth fumbled with a sheet of paper, scrawled with names and locations. "A man named Satar Jabar was rumored to have witnessed the massacre. He's supposedly in this town, Hamid."

"Why was he out there in the first place?"

"He was traveling a road to another village--family relations, I believe. He was able to get a ride that far out, but had to hoof it the last five miles. The path ran right along where the massacre took place. Poor bastard probably got a front row seat."

"How far away are we from the Base and the grave site?" Brennan questioned, not liking that she was the one asking all the questions.

"Base is about five miles away. Site about fifty miles northeast of that," Booth supplied as he slowed his speed into the town. "Bones, keep your eyes open for a guy missing a left arm and right leg."

"Guess he wouldn't be called 'Lucky'?"

"Humor isn't your forte, now look," Booth said mirthlessly.

"Yes sir," Brennan mocked. Booth ignored her as they searched the emptied streets. Slightly disappointed, Brennan noted Booth had put his shirt back on. Few people strolled in and out of the open markets, and each face stared at the newcomers. Hamid was essentially a one-street town with several alleys. The buildings stood low, and some of the roofs slanted over the streets. The scent of food overpowered the smoke from fires.

"Small. We should be able to find him soon," Brennan observed.

"Already ahead of you," Booth bragged. He pulled off and parked behind one of the few vehicles in Hamid. Brennan looked down a darkened alley and saw an old man limping toward a fruit stand on a wooden crutch. Considering he was missing two limbs, he was moving quite fast.

Stepping out, Booth asked, "Do you know Arabic?"

"Only a few phrases. And I'm a little rusty. What do you want me to say?"

Booth paused and replied warily, "Hold that thought, we have trouble ahead."

Brennan watched with disdain as a group of youths surrounded Jabar, mocking him. One of the oldest shoved the old man roughly, trying to knock him off-balance. A younger one pulled out a switchblade. Brennan thought with disgust and rising panic, _half a world away, and we're still in DC. _Shouts in Arabic echoed off the walls, but most came from the group of kids. Without hesitating, Booth drew his gun and headed straight for the muggers. One look at the gun, and the kids immediately backed off. They cursed Booth and made slashing movements with their hands. Just as soon as they had come, they disappeared into the shadows.

Jabar leaned wearily against the wall. Brennan walked over to him slowly while Booth holstered his weapon. Brennan studied their potential witness for a moment. His skin was leathery and wizened, his eyes dulled with age and from a lifetime of hardship. He was thin, and his skeletal frame suggested malnutrition. If Brennan didn't know any better, Jabar was around eighty. Booth motioned to Brennan to break the ice, and she nodded. Jabar looked at his rescuers with thankfulness and curiosity. What were these outsiders doing here?

Brennan asked, "Hal inta musaab?" _Are you injured?_

Jabar looked over himself, and murmured "Laa." _No._

"Is there any chance you understand English?" Brennan tried, knowing her knowledge of the Arabic language was scant.

To her surprise and delight, Jabar nodded yes. There was apprehension in his eyes and Brennan added, "Can you speak it?"

The reply was "Ve'y little."

Brennan pulled out a photo of Zach. "We're looking for him. Rumors had it you saw what happened. He's family, and we're trying to get him back."

Booth started pacing, uneasy for the fact the sun was starting to set. Jabar studied the picture, and a sadness filled his eyes. He nodded and handed Zach's face back to Brennan. "Took."

"By who?"

Jabar's eyes darkened. He looked up and down the alley cautiously, and started fidgeting. He reached a decision and replied, "I not know."

Booth stepped in front of Brennan, and said, "We're just trying to find him. We need your help. That, or I call back the kids who tried to mug you. You at least owe us some clues."

Brennan threw Booth a steely glare. He was using fear to get answers, and she forever despised that. But she knew Jabar held the information they needed. Booth felt Brennan sending him the death stare, but he shrugged it off. Right now he didn't care about her feelings, he just wanted to get Zach, and get home. Preferably, with everyone alive. He prompted Jabar and asked, "Well? It's your call."

Several silent moments ticked by before Jabar breathed out, "The '_Aswad qaa'id'… _the Black Commanders."

"Creative," Booth muttered. "Who are they?"

Jabar was clearly nervous. He shifted his weight from crutch to foot, his eyes moving furtively down the alley. Brennan felt herself recollecting names, remembering facts. Jabar whispered then, "Death." Booth frowned, not understanding. Brennan pulled him off to the side and said quietly, "They are a military group founded by members of various disbanded organizations that Saddam supported."

"Basically our Neo-Nazis," Booth replied, referencing from earlier.

"Yes, but the Commanders are very much still active. They go on as if the War on Terror wasn't happening," Brennan elaborated.

"Nice."

"But because of their radicalism, they are a small group," Brennan pointed out. Jabar nodded in agreement while wringing his arthritic hands.

"Why was Zach taken though?"

Jabar spoke, "As warning. No more digs."

Brennan felt her heart hit her feet. She understood immediately, having gone through this before. She explained to Booth, "They are most likely going to film him. Send a video either to the Embassy or to news stations in the U.S."

"A message not to send any more anthropologists," Booth understood.

"Because the Commanders are still murdering," Brennan folded her arms and kicked a rusty can. Bile rose in her throat and she added, "Once they have a video, they'll be done with Zach. They'll kill him."

Booth placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "I know a guy, about twenty miles from here. We go to him, he can give us information about Zach's whereabouts. He maybe able to stall the Commanders."

"Is he one of them," she asked, her voice quavering with tension.

"No. He's a mercenary. A feared one," Booth explained.

Brennan shook her head. _Why would he help us, if he's that close to this manic death squad?_

"There's a catch, isn't there."

It seemed like hours passed before Brennan got her answer.

"There always is, Bones."

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Stay still. Focus on the breathing. Zach opened his eyes._

_He was still alive. _

* * *

AN: Black Commanders are the fictional part. 


	12. The Last One Alive

AN: I'll be gone from the computer, beginning the 6th for about a week due to vacation. I'll try to squeeze in another chapter before I leave. Leave me reviews!

**Chapter Twelve: The Last One Alive**

_Trudging out of the all-terrain-vehicle, Zach blinked against the harshness of the sun. Already at an early hour, the heat was starting to suffocate him. Wiping a thin trickle of sweat from his brow, Zach began to help unload the equipment. Next to him, his co-worker and fellow anthropologist Dr. Sarah Mitchells did the same. Her long strawberry-blonde hair was tied in a bun, but a few loose strands had escaped and now clung to her neck. She was young, and Zach was more than impressed with her abilities as an anthropologist. Mitchells was very much like him, having gone through grad school when she was still in her teens, but minus the social awkwardness. He wouldn't have been surprised to find her I.Q. putting his to shame. What he liked best about her though, was that she was down to earth. She was here because she wanted to find the truth and give faceless people identities again. He admired that about her._

"_Zach, you're finally getting tan," she grinned. "For awhile you were looking like a tomato."_

_Zach just smiled as he placed some shovels on the ground. Not only was he getting tan, he felt his muscles strengthening. He was relieved to have finally adjusted to his new environment. The first time he tried digging, his hands had blistered immediately. Mitchells had rolled her hazel tinted eyes and taken the shovel from him, while he was left to deal with the group's snickering. It had been awhile since Zach thoroughly looked himself over in a mirror, but he could tell he was changing physically. His hair had grown out, and it was back to the floppy mess style he had before he became a doctor. His hands had become calloused. It had been about a month since he left the Jeffersonian, and he knew once he returned, he'd be different. It was bound to happen, and Zach welcomed the development. _

_The other members of their convoy began setting up tents. The two soldiers/guards were scanning the area aimlessly, their weapons discarded. With the exception of some low-lying sandy hills, the ground was relatively flat. In the small chance someone, particularly reporters, would come across the site, Zach and the others would know about it in advance. A lonely narrow dirt road connected scattered villages, leaving Zach in the middle of No Man's Land. _

"_Bastards," Mitchells muttered, her relaxed mood turning tense. "This is a perfect spot to dump bodies. They have an access road, and an area where the nearest village is miles away. It's smart, in a sickening way."_

"_They can't be that intelligent," Zach argued gently._

"_How is that?"_

_Zach sipped water from a canteen and answered, "We found the grave."_

"_True…Zach, do you notice anything different? Something about this site that isn't like the other two we excavated together?" Mitchells asked, a hint of curiosity and uneasiness in her voice._

_Zach walked around the perimeter that had been set up. To the naked eye, the dirt covering the pit was indistinguishable from the ground that hadn't been disturbed. Zach knelt and traced the outside ring with his hand. The dirt crumbled in his hands instantly. He did the same with the surrounding ground, and it came apart in chunks. Wiping the dirt on his jeans, Zach stood, a growing restlessness plaguing his brain. Something did appear to be different. Other sites, the ground blended together as one. It had taken electronic equipment to establish a boundary because normally, the texture, the color, the moisture content was the same until they began to dig. Then grave wax would be found, and the layers would be uncovered slowly until remains began to appear. Something was different though with this grave. Mitchells had seen it right away. Zach had finally caught on._

"_This has been recently dug," Zach observed. _

"_Could it be that someone tried finding a loved one's body?" Mitchells prodded._

_Zach shook his head negatively. "No. Rationally, it doesn't make sense. They'd alert others, meaning us, and the hole wouldn't have been filled back in. Not like this. It's too carefully done."_

"_As if someone was trying to make sure no one found it," Mitchells finished, her voice becoming edgy. "Zach I don't like this."_

"_Let's not jump to conclusions," warned Zach.. As much as he didn't like the evidence supporting a recent dig, he was not about to let his emotions run scenarios. That's not what he did._

"_You're right," Mitchells sighed. "We probably shouldn't mention this to the others. They'd get worked up…Christ, the damned reporters found us."_

_Zach turned to the direction in which she indicated their unwelcome visitors. Sure enough, three men came towards the two soldiers. Even in the distance, Zach could see one carried a camera. Behind them on the dirt road several jeeps awaited. He heard the two guards groan in frustration as they tossed water bottles off to the side. They approached the newcomers, weapons at the side but still on safety. The last thing they wanted was a cameraman capturing U.S. soldiers pointing machine guns at harmless journalists. Zach watched warily as the soldiers warned the three to leave. The others began spouting off in Arabic, and Zach could make out a few phrases._

"_Minfadlik, minfadlik," one of the reporters urged. Please, please._

"_Can't they respect the dead," Mitchells murmured._

_Zach sighed and shrugged his shoulders._

_It was the last normal thing that occurred._

_Suddenly thunderous cracks ripped through the air and Zach watched with growing horror as the cameraman and two journalists pull out concealed weapons. They fired immediately, and Zach witnessed the two guards stumble backwards, blood bursting from gaping bullet wounds. Zach hit the dirt, grabbing a stunned Mitchells with him. There was no place for cover other than their vehicles, which were too far away at this point to make a run for. Zach covered his head as the shots became increasingly closer. Mitchells screamed when five more men jumped from their attackers' cars, each wielding machine guns. Cries of agony and the metallic smell of blood filled the air as Zach heard his co-workers being cut down brutally. In a matter of seconds, the slaughter reached it's climax and the screams died down. Mitchells began sobbing and Zach's heart was in his throat. One of the gunmen stormed his way to Zach and Mitchells, harshly yelling and pointing his gun. Zach's mind froze and he could think of nothing else other than the awaiting impact of the slugs. _

_But they never came._

_Two more assailants surrounded Zach and Mitchells. They yanked her roughly away from Zach's side by her hair, and she cried in protest. Zach instinctively moved after her, but the butt of a gun smashed down onto his skull. Zach fell back, dazed and seeing stars. Through wavy vision, he saw them tying Mitchells' hands behind her back. After receiving several sharp, brutal kicks to his back and abdomen, he was pulled up by the hair. They too began tying his hands behind his back next to Mitchells._

_Zach looked around him, trying to see if there were any other survivors. Ignoring the blood running down his face, Zach hoped desperately he and Mitchells weren't the only ones alive. To his dismay, all he found was carnage. One of the technicians, an old-timer that went by "Joey D." lay on his stomach, the back of his head caved in by the impact of the bullets. Further ahead, several bodies were sprawled on the ground, their faces frozen in haunted death masks. Zach fought the sudden urge to vomit. He knew those people, and now they were dead. In front of him, their invaders convened and spoke in rapid Arabic. The barrel of a shotgun wavered from Zach to Mitchells. Terror gripped Zach's insides as he realized they were deciding who would live, and who would die. "They only want one of us," Zach whispered. Mitchells eyes widened and she shook her head in disbelief._

_Zach looked to the sky, his eyes becoming watery. Above the bloodshed, the sky was clear and stars twinkled. Zach realized he hadn't seen the night sky like that since he left Michigan. Out here, pollution and city lights didn't obstruct the view of the heavens. It gave him a small moment of peace. It reminded him of home. Choking, he answered, "They'll keep you, Sarah. Rationally they'll spare a woman." He locked eyes with her and saw she was crying silently. "You do want they want, and you'll live longer. Don't let them break you."_

_Zach was backhanded by one of the men for speaking. The force knocked him to the ground and he heard Mitchells yelp. The barrel of the gun was aimed directly at Zach, the finger on the trigger. Mitchells wept openly. Zach swallowed hard, knowing his life was about to end. He stared defiantly at his executioner. Though he was terrified, he wouldn't give these men the pleasure of knowing it._

_The gun moved suddenly and a single blast rocked the air. Zach was sprayed with warm, sticky blood. He felt a thud next to him as Mitchells' lifeless body toppled over. The smell of gunpowder was overwhelming. Zach took a shaky breath as sorrow and despair engulfed him. He couldn't look at her, he couldn't see her smoking head and the gaping bloody hole the bullet caused._

_Anger quickly mixed in with his turbulent emotions and he screamed, "Why did you kill her! She's just a young woman!"_

_Zach saw the butt of the gun come his way again. He felt the impact and it seemed as if fireworks went off in his head. He didn't understand, why, of all people, he was the last one alive. The night sky had closed in on him, and his question was never answered._

Zach opened his eyes, momentarily breaking away from his fever-induced delirium and nightmare. A crude bandage wrapped around his middle and waist, and he could see the blood soaking through. He felt like he was floating, and he couldn't even feel the cold metal table he was on. His throat felt rough and sandy, and he realized he wanted water. He tried to speak, but no words formed. He was too weak. His eyelids drooped, and he felt himself slipping away again. A loud bang brought his attention to the doorway, however. The tripod from outside was lugged in, and bright lights were lit above him. Zach coughed and wheezed, but he was completely ignored. _They're going to film me. Ask for money. And then kill me._

Zach was no longer afraid. In his mind, death would bring an end to the pain.

He welcomed the thought.


	13. Free

**Chapter Thirteen: Free**

"…_do not send any more people. Once again, this is our first, last, and only warning."_

Zach heard a gun being loaded. _Click._

"_You have been shown what will happen to the others…"_

Deeply accented voice. Zach recognized it as the man who kicked him earlier. He heard the safety turn off.

The cameras stopped rolling.

The barrel came into his line of vision.

He closed his eyes.

_Slam. _The outside door flew open.

Rapid-fire Arabic. Wavering gun.

A new voice, calm. The Brit. "Congrats, Dr. Addy. You get to live."

Zach felt nothing, not even hope or curiosity.

"Looks like you have some friends in town."

* * *

AN: So what did Booth and Brennan do that halted Zach's execution? Guess you'll have to keep reading… Okay, so maybe a little sorry for the short chapter teaser. Coming up next--Angela and Hodgins. 


	14. I Don't Have Anything

**Chapter Fourteen: I Don't Have Anything**

Half a world away, while Zach's life was hanging by a string, a different kind of fight would be waged. The sunlight filtered through the crack between the dark-red drawn curtains of Hodgins' and Angela's master bedroom. She lay on the mattress, her raven hair splayed around her head like a halo. Looking to the ceiling, breathing softly with her husband's hand on her stomach, an outsider would not have believed that something was very wrong. They appeared to be one of the many couples in the world resting in each other's arms. Nevertheless, Hodgins was doing everything in his power to make it seem he wasn't disturbed by her secret. His thoughts raced from betrayal to Angela just being over-emotional. Hodgins hadn't tried finding out what was wrong since the news of the pregnancy, but now seemed like the best moment to ask her, while he had her full attention. Instead, he kissed her forehead and asked, "When will the baby start to kick?"

Angela smiled softy and answered, "In about fourteen weeks, since a month and two weeks have already passed."

"Seems so long."

"Hmmm."

Melancholy overran Angela's features, the winning smile now a frown, her free-spirited eyes grown laden with stress. It seemed like she aged ten years in ten seconds. Hodgins' jaw tightened and he rolled over, hiding his own despair and anger. Clearing his voice, he questioned, "What time were you going into the lab?"

"In a few minutes. I just need to pick up some files," she said softly. Sitting up, she readjusted a pink cami and pulled her hair into a bun. Hodgins watched, knowing the woman he loved more than life itself was keeping something from him. Turning his stare to the ceiling, he announced, "I'll start making dinner, then."

Normalcy. That's all Hodgins wanted. She leaned down to kiss him. "I'll be back in a few."

"Kay."

Angela left the semi-darkened room, leaving Hodgins to rub his face wearily. Rising from the bed, he made his way to the curtains. Drawing them back, he peered out and watched as Angela pulled out of the driveway. For a second, he felt like the antagonist in one of his conspiracy theories. Angela trusted him: he was about to violate that gift. Switching the lights back on, he began rummaging immediately through her drawers. Searching blind, he hadn't the slightest clue what to look for. _I just need to find something, anything that'll give me answers. What is she hiding from me? _Gingerly placing back drawings and sketches displaced in his search, he closed the drawers and moved on to her side of the closet. Obviously finding nothing in coat pockets, he turned to some of the boxes on the floor. He recognized a tiny blue one as the expensive lingerie Angela bought for their honeymoon. A wicked grin momentarily spread across his face as **lovely** memories surfaced, back to when he wasn't losing sleep over a secret.

_You should stop…this isn't the way…_

He sat heavily on the floor, not knowing what to do. _Talk it out with her, genius. You haven't done that yet. Did you think going through her things would yield answers? Try again, Idiot. _

"Fine, fine. I'll talk to her over dinner," he murmured to himself. He couldn't handle another night not knowing what the problem was. This whole dilemma was like seeing the season finale of a favorite show and dying to make it to the fall without looking up the spoilers. You want to know what's going to happen, whether it's good or bad.

He started to lift himself off the floor when something under the bed caught his eye. A white plastic bin had been shoved haphazardly back, the lid only resting on top. He paused, debating. "Oh, what the hell, it could be a tub of shoes for all I know. It isn't going to hurt to look." He reached in and pulled the container out while unconsciously holding his breath. He lifted the lid, and burst out laughing when he saw a stack of paperbacks.

"Serves you right," Hodgins sighed, relieved for the moment. He scanned the titles and saw that many of them were old-western romance novels. Shaking his head, he went to push the bin back under the bed when something else grabbed his attention. Tucked between one of the book stacks and the corner was an envelope. Frowning, he removed the paper and read the address in the upper left hand corner.

"St. John's Area Hospital…" he trailed off, confused. Any regrets he had for breaking into Angela's privacy were forgotten as he ripped the letter out of the envelope. _Is she sick, is Ange okay? What the hell is wrong?_ He quickly began reading aloud, his heartbeat racing. If he didn't find out what this was about, he'd be the one who'd end up going to a hospital!

"…scans have confirmed Ms. Montenegro, that the tumors have turned malignant. We advise immediate treatment for the brainstem glioma. Our treatment options are limited, due to the cancer's location. We suggest chemotherapy…"

Hodgins froze and his racing heart came to a screeching halt. _Cancer? Oh God…_ The letter was dated two weeks before Angela announced the pregnancy. His hand traveled to his mouth as panic and grief pounded into him. _My Angela…my child…why is this happening to her? Brain cancer? Christ, she's been keeping this from me? Oh, Angela…_

The sound of pounding feet jerked him out him out of his stricken state. In an almost sing-song quality, Angela ran up the stairs, calling, "Hey, I'm back! I got down past our street when I remembered that I forgot to bring some art supplies with me…" Angela opened the bedroom door and her eyes fell onto Hodgins, sitting on the wooden floor and clutching the letter from the hospital. His eyes were red-rimmed and he was deathly pale. Angela's stomach dropped to her feet. She trembled, "Oh, God…Jack…"

"Why didn't you tell me? Angela, how could you…" his voice cracked. He was furious at himself for being too afraid to find out what was wrong earlier, knowing now she was going through this by herself. He hated himself now for breaking down in front of her, when she was the one dying! Angela knelt next to him, her eyes watering.

"I couldn't--"

"But why?" Hodgins asked, the shock wearing off slowly. "You--why would you hide this?"

Angela sniffed and whispered, "Did Bren tell you?"

"Brennan?" Hodgins paused as indignation crossed his face. "You told her and not me? I-I'm practically you're husband! Aren't I not important enough," Hodgins fired off. _Don't start yelling at her, you never have before! She doesn't, and never will deserve it!_ But Hodgins couldn't help himself as pain seized him. Why did she keep this from him? "Don't I mean anything? I thought…" he trailed off.

"What, that I didn't love you enough," Angela cried, bitterness etched clearly into her voice.

"Do you know how hard it's been, knowing the woman you loved was keeping something hidden like that?" Hodgins countered, his voice shaking.

"Do you know how hard it's been, carrying this burden, Jack," Angela retorted, tears streaming freely. "I have a life growing inside of me, and I'm sick. How do you think I felt?"

"So why couldn't I have helped you manage the burden? I love you so much, and knowing you were going through this without me, it kills. I want to help…" Hodgins nearly broke down.

Angela placed a hand on his cheek and she whispered, "It's because I loved you so much, I thought you shouldn't have to." She started heaving as her hand dropped to her face. Unable to sit upright anymore, she leaned forward, sorrow engulfing her. Hodgins closed his eyes and took her into his arms, hugging her tightly. He murmured into her hair, "I'm so sorry, Ange. I'm sorry." He rocked her gently, crying silently. Too stunned to think anything else, only one thought surfaced to his mind.

_What are we going to do?_


	15. The Gates of Rock 'N' Roll

**Chapter Fifteen: The Gates of Rock 'N' Roll**

_(Two hours before Zach's stay of execution) _

"Booth, you need to accelerate--"

"Bones, I'm already driving sixty-five miles per hour on a rocky dirt road, when we hit the highway I can continue breaking every traffic law in existence and endangering our lives," Booth replied grimly. His grip tensed on the steering wheel as he attempted to keep the jeep in control, fighting the almost inevitable fishtailing. Stones flew up from under the wheels and whipped across the windshield while a thick cloud of dust followed behind Brennan and Booth. The last thing he needed was a backseat driver, particularly Brennan.

"You think this is funny?" Brennan began to snap lividly at him. Booth shot her a glare and he retorted, "Trust me, I wish this whole thing was a joke. This is a shot in the dark, the guy may not even be there."

"Where's 'there'?"

Booth pushed the gas pedal harder when a paved road came into his sights. Brennan's hand involuntarily tightened on the door handle as the speedometer needle flew past seventy. Clearing her voice, Brennan demanded, "Booth?" She was stressed, already feeling exhausted, and she was tiring of Booth's vagueness. _We're going to try finding some 'guy' about twenty miles or so away in a town. Perfect. _

Keeping his eyes on the ahead destination, Booth answered slowly, "The town doesn't really have a name--it's known for some of the…'establishments' there. Back in the gulf, ex soldiers from either side who didn't--or couldn't go back to there homes settled here."

"Establishments?" Brennan prompted irritatingly.

"Places for illegal arms sales, bars, and brothels. Those types of businesses tend to appeal to people who have nothing else left to lose," Booth replied bluntly. Brennan's eyes widened as he turned the wheel sharply, the vehicle screaming onto the highway. A larger cloud of debris and dust followed and the stench of burnt rubber occupied the air. Brennan hissed, "I thought we recognized the fact that a car wasn't supposed to go on two wheels if it was meant to stay on four!"

"You wanna drive?"

"No, beca--"

"Then just shut up!" Booth barked. Brennan flushed with indignation and swallowed the rest of her sentence. She sat back stiffly as Booth pushed ninety miles per hour on the new road. She heard him release a shaky sigh before saying hesitantly, "Bones, I'm sorry for yelling at you…it's just…Zach's in it deep. And I have the feeling we're going down that same road."

Brennan relaxed and placed a hand on his shoulder. _That was intelligent of you Brennan…did you forget about what he's going through in order to help you? Take it easy on him, you owe Booth so much. _At her touch, his eyes met hers for a brief moment before he turned his back to the road. She said softly, "Don't worry about it. And we will get Zach back. We just have to." She removed her hand and was surprised to feel as if she suddenly lost something close to her heart. Shaking away the fluttering in her chest, she asked, "How close are we?"

"At this speed, in a few minutes you'll see buildings on the horizon, before the hills begin to rise."

"And uh…" Brennan fought for the right wording, "which of this town's businesses will we be entering?"

Booth offered her a small smirk and answered, "A bar. This little village may not have an official title, but it's the namesake of the tavern we're going into."

"And that would be…"

Booth nodded ahead and replied, "Welcome to The Gates of Rock 'N' Roll."

* * *

The Gates of Rock 'N' Roll, nicknamed Gates, did not appear to be the conventional furnished bar. Brennan's nose scrunched up in disgust as the two of them approached the rotten wooden structure. It leaned toward the right, and the steps were black and worthy of a biohazard sticker. Squishy substances stuck to Booth and Brennan's soles and the bar itself emitted the smells of booze, smoke, and what Brennan identified as stale vomit. Which was what was probably now adhered to the bottom of their shoes. Fluorescent lights flickered intermittently from signs advertising hard liquor and food, both in English and Arabic. Shadows cast the entire building into seedy darkness, and Brennan could have sworn that beyond the blackness faces leered at the two strangers. Booth protectively placed a hand around her shoulders, and for once she didn't shake him off in an attempt to break his alpha-male possessiveness. She noticed uneasily as his other hand rested on the gun he had received.

"Bones, you stay close. I'm serious, don't go starting a fight or try to find information out for yourself," Booth whispered into her ear as they entered Gates. Brennan, sensing the gravity of the next however many minutes were at hand, nodded in reassurance. Although Gates sported a few customers, every head turned to the newcomers. Some regarded Booth with suspicion, others stared at Brennan with lust. The rest were just too drunk to even care or distinguish the two newcomers. Booth and Brennan made their way to one of the tables and sat, but not before Booth scanned the area to check for escape routes and hidden adversaries.

"I think we're going to be okay for now," Booth murmured to his partner, his eyes cautiously watching the surroundings.

"How do you know," Brennan asked, careful to keep her voice low.

"We wouldn't be sitting here otherwise," he answered. Brennan nodded in understanding, but a sense of restlessness came over her. Shifting nervously, she queried, "So…who's 'the guy'?"

Booth exhaled, "I'll give you the short version on this dude's agenda. His name is Roman Proditorson, and he's a local mercenary. Well, at least that's what I heard he became, anyway. He served in the special ops division of the British army--he was a sniper. I had a target at the time, but was captured by enemy forces and during my captivity, he was sent in my place. I had hesitated in taking the shot, and it cost me. It really did. "

A fleeting look of pain passed his face, and she knew she'd see that expression again soon. He was diving into his past, and Brennan couldn't decipher whether he was remembering the torture, the people he killed as a sniper, or all of the above. She saw him mentally brace himself and she did the same. He continued, his voice more strained.

"It was bad, Bones. Really bad. The target was Uday Kamel, and he was one sadistic murdering son of a bitch. The Iraqi side couldn't take him out themselves, so they sent me kill Saddam's appointed general of the Baath party. They were a lot like our Black Commanders and their specialties in silencing the innocent. But he had an infant daughter with him…and I stopped to think what would happen to the kid, all alone in the desert next to her dead dad. And that's when I was ambushed. My spotter was killed beforehand, so I had no warning."

He took a deep breath and his face became serious, deadpanned. No emotion radiated from his face, and Brennan swallowed hard. He had suddenly become a rock. Brennan didn't like this side of him.

"So Roman was sent to finish the job. And as with me, the Baath party had already known their leader was going to be assassinated. They caught Roman, but they struck a deal with him. You see, Bones, he was one of the best snipers our side had. He works with the enemy, either taking out our own soldiers and doing…_favors_, and he lives. The Baathists continue to kill. Roman also gets paid."

"He changed sides, just like that?" Brennan asked incredulously. Disdain was clearly hinted in her voice.

"It turns out our boy had some pending investigations on him. Rape. Drug trafficking among the troops. Murder. War crimes. Escaping jail time and getting incredible amounts of money was a sweet deal for him," Booth explained.

"If he is as bad as you say he is, why would he help you? Why would he even see you?"

"Because Roman was the one who saved me from my captors," Booth revealed.

Brennan blinked processing all the information while Booth further explained, "He did still have a conscience back then. As ironic as it sounds, he didn't aim to kill our soldiers. Shot them in the leg, arm. He arranged my rescue with the Iraqi allies. I couldn't turn him in because of that, and Uday and the others never found out how I escaped. I discovered years later that I saved his ass in a siege a few months beforehand. I took out an enemy sniper who had his sights on Roman and his best friend. He felt as if he needed to pay me back."

"So…" Brennan breathed out, "how will we find him?"

"_Well, Lt. Seeley Booth. I thought you died already."_

Booth closed his eyes and offered Brennan a grim smile. "I have a feeling it's going to be easier than what we thought." He stood slowly, as did Brennan, and turned toward the new voice. Sitting in a corner table and leaning against the water-stained wall was Roman Proditorson. Though sitting, one could tell he stood over six-feet tall. His hair was a tawny golden brown with streaks of gray. His cold gray eyes peered up at Brennan and Booth with a calculating, and if not a slightly bemused gaze. His shoulders were wide, and the rest of his body was bulked with muscle and strength. He pulled out an object, and Booth's eyes widened when Roman began inspecting the thing in question--an Mauser C96, a deadly-looking semi-automatic handgun. Booth instinctively moved in front of Brennan while he grabbed his own gun. Roman chuckled and placed the weapon on the table.

"Calm yourself, Booth. I take it your looking for me?" Roman asked smugly. Booth lowered his gun cautiously.

"I figured you'd be here. Heard it was your favorite bar," Booth acknowledged.

"I take it you got the notebook of contacts I sent you? You sure take a long time to take revenge on the people who brutally tortured you, Lt." Roman answered. He cast a glance to Brennan and raised his eyes. Roman chuckled, "I'm sure you didn't need to spend all your money on this broad and bring her overseas, you can pay for whores here, you know."

Brennan saw Booth take a step forward as if too slug Roman. She caught his arm and whispered harshly, "I've been called worse, Booth, now _you _don't do anything stupid. We need his help."

"Smart lady," Roman commented dryly. He pulled out a cigarette and flipped out a lighter. Igniting the Camel, he inhaled deeply and commented, "Revenge isn't your thing I take it, Lt. Booth."

"I'm not military anymore," Booth corrected.

"From what I heard, your government sent you out all over the world to snipe threats. You're just like me," Roman pointed out.

"I don't kill for money," Booth gritted out.

"What are you now?" Roman challenged.

"FBI. And I wouldn't have it any other way," Booth answered, a sense of pride riding in his voice.

Roman chuckled and asked, "What branch, _Agent _Booth?"

Booth narrowed his eyes. "Homicide."

Pleased, Roman observed, "Surely you've had to kill some people there as well. And you get a paycheck. You're no better than me."

Booth's jaw clenched at Brennan felt a flare of anger on his behalf. "Booth is a good man, and he's loyal to a better cause," Brennan defended.

Ignoring her outburst, Roman directed to Booth, "So, G-man, why did you try seeking me out?"

Biting back the growing rage, Booth said tightly, "We're looking for a forensic anthropologist who was taken hostage several days ago by a radical group labeled as the Black Commanders. His name is Zach Addy, and he was taken because of his work with the mass graves. We need to get him back before the Commanders kill him."

Roman became very still. Booth sensed something was wrong, and it dawned on him instantly, "You know what we're talking about…you bastard, you've probably seen him, where the hell is he?!" Disregarding his safety, Booth charged Roman and shoved him against the wall. Before Brennan could stop either of the two men, Roman whipped out a switchblade and placed the end right above Booth's heart. Booth grabbed his wrist and snapped it away from his chest, but Roman countered the move and Booth found the knife at his liver.

"Don't think for a second I won't hesitate, and don't think you can pull some Ranger shit over me, because I could kill you about fifteen different ways in under three seconds. Get off of me now and control your temper. 'Cause next time I won't debate whether or not to end your pitiful excuse of a life. Got it?"

Brennan pulled Booth back, infuriated herself. "You getting hurt isn't going to help us!" Booth stepped back and Roman smiled tightly. "Yeah, Booth, listen to your bitch. Now, before you pulled a 'stupid', I was going to tell you, that yes, I know who you seek. The sole survivor of the massacre, the young doctor was taken as a message to outsiders."

"And?" Booth growled, impatient. Brennan still held him back.

Roman flicked a quick glance to Brennan and he announced, "Let's talk in private, Booth. What I have to say is between you and me only."

"Wait a second, you can't leave me--" Brennan began to butt in.

"Fine," Booth interrupted. Brennan's eyes narrowed, and a dark, underlying rage filled her now icy blue eyes. "When was it decided that you made all the decisions without consulting me?"

"Since when my past was coming back to bite me in the ass," Booth muttered.

"Well that's your own damned fault!"

Roman snorted and Booth answered, not offended in anyway, "That's my girl. Keep your gun close."

"Thanks for the advice," she replied frostily. Booth merely nodded and the two of them stepped outside, leaving a seething Brennan, with the underlying feeling that things were about to worsen.

* * *

He was out there too long. Brennan shifted in her seat nervously, fiddling with her gun. She felt her stomach roil about and she knew she would have an ulcer before the week was over. On top of Booth's outburst, he was now alone with an ex-sniper, special ops mercenary. Booth had always been able to handle himself when a suspect tried to get a jump on them, sometimes without even breaking a sweat, but now…Roman was clearly on a whole other level in combat. The worst scenarios began to flitter around her mind. What if Booth was lying outside, in a pool of his own blood, dead and lifeless? What if Booth had lost his cool again and tried beating the information out of Roman? Her anxiety was replaced with anger. _What was he thinking? He could have killed himself, or Roman could have left without telling us anything about Zach. Why would he risk that, he doesn't even like Zach that much! _Brennan stood and began pacing. The resentment she had felt seconds ago was once again replaced with apprehension for Booth's safety, and also a sense of gratefulness. _It's because Zach is important to you. He's part of your family. And you know that Booth would protect those close to you. That's why he's acting like he is…Jesus, what's taking him so long…_

Brennan drew her gun and marched toward the entrance, prepared to fight if something was wrong. If it turned out the two were still discussing whatever Roman had to say, she'd only look like an idiot. Brennan needed to check on her best friend. Just as she was about to burst outside, Booth nearly ran her down.

"Booth!" Brennan yelped as she jumped back. "Are you alright, what took so long?"

Booth didn't answer her as he pushed past. He leaned over one of the tables, his shoulders slumped. Brennan was instantly on alert. She ran around the table, facing him, and was shocked to find him paler than Death itself. His knuckles were just as white as he gripped the edge of the wood. Without raising his head, he said softly, "We were right. Black Commanders were gonna tape Zach, and then murder him. Roman was able to make a call to one of them, stop the execution that was supposed to happen an hour from now."

"Oh God…" Brennan whispered.

"Yeah," Booth croaked.

"Booth, look at me," she pleaded. He still hadn't even glanced at her. Brennan placed a hand on his face and begged, "Please, tell me what's wrong…"

He grabbed her hand and clutched it closer to him, exhaling shakily. Brennan was disturbed by his action…something was terribly wrong.

_There's always a catch…_

"Booth…what do you have to do?" Brennan practically squeaked. She squeezed his hand tighter, fearing the unknown and imagining the worst. Booth finally lifted his head, his eyes dead and filled with a terrible hopelessness. He let his hand drop to his side, and Brennan retracted hers from his now chilled cheek.

"Nothing you have to worry about," he murmured quietly.

"Booth…please tell me…"

He locked his lifeless and stunned gaze with her watering eyes.

"It's a huge catch."


	16. What Else Do I Need?

**AN: **_Italic takes place during the time Booth and Roman step outside._

**Chapter Sixteen: What Else Do I Need?**

"_Roman, be straight with me. How deep is the kid in?" Booth squared his shoulders up, and watched Roman intently. The other man sighed and pulled out another cigarette. He lighted it calmly, as if he had nothing else to worry about--they both knew that Booth couldn't pound the information out of the mercenary. Apprehension invaded his mind, the sharp realization that Brennan's mission to rescue Zach rested in the hands of a murdering traitor. The odds of getting to Zach in time were becoming slimmer every second, and Booth was powerless to stop the downward spiral. He clenched his fists in self-loathing and rising hatred for the man before him. He waited in deathly stillness as Roman finished nonchalantly smoking the Camel. _

"_He's up to his head in shit," Roman acknowledged coldly. "The Commanders have plans to kill him tonight. They would have done it earlier, but the doctor tried to escape. What he got was a bullet in the back."_

_The blood in Booth's veins literally halted as his heart skipped a few beats. Feeling his pulse quickening, he prompted, "How bad?"_

"_He's dying."_

_Booth blew out a shaky breath and began pacing. Flashes from the past hit him directly in the chest. The poor guy had asked him if there was any sense in ducking when you're being shot at, or if it hurt. Booth hadn't given him an exact answer, hoping that Zach would never have to endure the burning and searing fire himself, or the way that life drained out of you once metal pierced flesh, bone, and organs. Booth shook his head, wishing now he could have prepared the young man for what may have been in stock, no matter how hard it was to explain the feelings--something that the prodigy could not have studied with a microscope. Booth could only imagine the pain and utter confusion Zach was going through. _

_But that would end soon if Booth and Brennan didn't get to him in time. The thought sickened him, knowing that they were so close in their operation. Brennan would never forgive herself if she couldn't bring Zach back alive. Booth couldn't let that happen. He refused to watch her carry the burden of lost life. He had hefted it many times himself, and each account ate at his soul. And Zach was part of Brennan's mismatched family. _

_Which meant Zach was family for himself, too._

"_What do I need to do to spare his life?" Booth demanded. Roman made deals--surely he could arrange Zach's stay of execution. Despite hostile feelings, he felt since Roman had helped him this far, he could convince the mercenary to betray the Commanders once again. Booth cringed inwardly, knowing the cost would be steep. _

_Roman tossed the butt into the dirt and crushed it into the ground. "Booth, why didn't you come back after I sent you that book? I mean some of the same people I work with now could have been disposed of by yourself. You might not have had this problem on your hands with the doctor."_

"_I don't do revenge." _

"_A shame," Roman commented. He turned to face Booth fully. Looking him in the eyes, he asked, "Why are you back. Surely it isn't because of this doctor…"_

"_No," Booth admitted. He humored Roman's curiosity and clarified, "it's more for the other doctor--my partner in the Gates right now. Zach's family to her, and it was her original plan to find him after news of his kidnapping. I joined her to make sure she wouldn't get herself killed."_

_Roman smirked, but the mocking grin faded. His eyes seemed to grow distant as he was whipped back to the past. "You are a noble man, Booth. If I were you, I sure as hell wouldn't have returned. Too many people who want me dead, if you know what I mean." He paused and swore softly. Shaking his head, he decided, "I am going to help you as much as I can. After your rescue, you could have turned me in. Soldiers were swarming everywhere, but you kept your mouth shut. Do you know how easily I would have been caught?"_

_Booth closed his eyes, grateful that Roman would aid him. Hope clawing its way back into his heart and mind, Booth replied, "You saved my life. I couldn't turn you in."_

"_Don't look at me like a hero yet," Roman warned. "I still work for the people who support the Commanders. I simply cannot help the boy without good reason. They will know something is amiss."_

"_Will money pay them off?"_

_Roman guffawed, "They pay me. Not the other way around."_

_Booth groaned inwardly and kicked the ground in rapidly growing irritation. He could not go back to Brennan empty-handed._

"_Where is Zach?"_

_Roman began pacing himself and explained vehemently, "You assume I know where he is. Truthfully, I haven't had any contracts from my employers in a month. I only know that the Commanders wanted Zach, that he was shot, and that they are planning to kill him tonight as a warning. This is heard through the grapevine, mind you, but the information I get is never wrong. If I had any involvement in his hostage-taking, may lightning strike me now." _

"_Slow down, I wasn't accusing you. If I suspected you did, you would have known it," Booth defended. He wouldn't have denied that he harbored the suspicions earlier, but Roman clearly felt obligated to help. Though his gut still nagged at him now, Booth blamed it on stress, feeling as if rocks were stacked inside his stomach._

"_I don't have anything that the Commanders would possibly want," Roman sighed, defeated._

_And in that moment, the rocks settled inside Booth turned into a devastating, hopeless emptiness--not because of Roman's statement, but because Booth understood what he would have to do. He looked to the bar, having the sensation that he was ripping in half. Conflicted, he shifted his eyes to the sky. Clutching his St. Michael's medal, he whispered, "Okay. I know the catch now."_

_The medallion still in his hand, Booth rasped, his throat constricted and tight, "Some of the Commanders--some of them were involved in my capture, correct?"_

_Roman nodded, and Booth let his hand drop to his side. "How do they feel about getting me back?"_

_Roman squinted in confusion, and then comprehension suddenly filled him. His eyes raised, and he rocked back on his heels. "Now that's something they would like."_

"_Send them a message. They spare Zach, they can have me." Booth felt coldness grip him._

"_I won't be able to save you this time. You are on your own after this. I can keep your lady friend out of it, if necessary, but that's it."_

_A long silence followed before Booth conceded, "I know."_

* * *

Brennan released a small gasp as she sank back into her chair. "Booth," she demanded, her voice shaking, "how could you do that! They will kill you!"

"And I had to give Roman something, Bones," Booth croaked. Brennan shook her head violently and proclaimed, "No. I will not let them get you. I can't. They won't…"

Booth grasped her hands, willing to stop his own from trembling. "Look…Roman is keeping Zach alive right now. The Commanders…I can avoid them. Roman isn't going to give them my location--"

"But they'll still look for you. You may not do revenge, but these men have an addiction for it. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, they remember you and want to finish what they started," Brennan interrupted, her voice deadly calculating. She was squeezing his hands, afraid to let go.

Booth felt shivers travel up his spine. He had the terrifying feeling that he could not escape his fate. Trying to push those to the back of his mind, he continued, "We need to drive to the city Jameenza, and find another mercenary there. Supposedly he knows where the Commanders hideout is, since he was the one who helped track down Zach and the other team members in the desert the day of the massacre. We will be moving constantly from here on out, making it harder for them to find me. Roman has a satellite phone, which means he can warn me."

Brennan shook her head, and answered softly, "It's not enough."

"I know it isn't, but you have to trust me. It's all we got."

Brennan released Booth's hands and exhaled, "I'm so sorry."

Booth's satellite phone rang suddenly, and he answered it on the second ring. He listened for a moment before eliciting a quiet, "Thanks." Brennan's eyes filled with anxiety and fear.

"I wouldn't be too sorry, Bones," Booth acknowledged, "we just saved Zach's life."

* * *

Roman clicked the 'end' button and smiled smugly. He looked down on Zach and announced, almost cheerfully, "You have friends in town."

Zach's head fell back against the table and he moaned. Roman stalked over and grabbed Zach's hair, lifting his beaten face up. "Booth and the woman--the fools--believe that they can help you." He pushed Zach back against the steel, causing stars to dance in front of his eyes. Zach didn't feel any pain, only numbness and the rising panic with the knowledge his friends were about to find themselves in a trap._ No…they're going to die._

"Uday Kamel will be thrilled. So will Sajida Shahbandar, I mean, the man lost half his face from a sniper's bullet and would love to take out his loss on Lt. Booth himself. I see a paycheck in my future…" Roman turned and sauntered over to one of his lackeys, "You'll be getting a boost, too, Jamal."

Jamal tossed him a sadistic smile and asked, "I thought bringing in the kid for the Commanders to film got you enough money."

"There is never enough money," Roman pointed out. Dialing numbers on the phone, he mused, "Booth actually believed I didn't work directly for Kamel. That I arranged for the others to bring back a doctor…" he leaned over the table and shouted, "Guess you were the lucky bastard, eh?!"

Zach winced and coughed, blood mixed in with spittle. Shaking his head, Roman finished making a call. Words and phrases made it to Zach's brain.

"_Guess who's back in town…"_

"_Lt. Seeley Booth. The sniper who escaped…"_

"_He's heading to Jameenza…keeping the kid as a bargaining chip…"_

"_Yes, thank you. You are absolutely welcome."_

Zach started to fade into darkness, his body begging for rest. A sharp slap wrenched him back to the land of the living. Roman stood over him, his face disgustingly joyful. Zach knew that the plan to capture Booth was set in motion.

And it was all his fault.

"What are you thinking, I wonder," Roman thought aloud. Zach tried to speak, but only harsh whispers came forth. Roman leaned down, amusement clearly written on his face. Jamal watched as Roman's satisfaction dissipated suddenly, and Zach sank back onto the table, unconscious, his words ringing like an anthem. Even though he had no proof of his prediction, he had read enough literature and solved enough cases to know that some things were inevitable.

With cracked and bloodied lips, Zach had whispered icily, "Traitors never last that long anymore."


	17. Blue

**AN: **Sorry for the long time between updates on ALL my WIP fics--I was scrambling to get some pre-school assignments done, and now that that part of hell is over with, I can continue with these, lol. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing and reading!

**Chapter Seventeen: Blue**

Dr. Mae Ping forced herself to smile at the jittery couple before her desk, as she calmly folded her hands over a stack of medical files. She watched as the curly-haired, blue-eyed man grasped the woman's hand, the patient, Angela Montenegro. She had seen this type of case before, and it saddened her greatly. A young couple setting out in the world and medical tragedy strikes. It was depressing, but Dr. Ping had grown immune against feeling depressed.

Sighing, she began, "The type of cancer Ms. Montenegro is afflicted with--brainstem gliomas--are tumors that occur in the brain stem."

Hoarsely, Hodgins interrupted, "Yeah, I kind of already know that, being brain_**stem **_and all."

Angela whispered, "Please, Jack. Just let her talk."

Dr. Ping cleared her throat and continued, gently, "Brainstem gliomas are divided into 3 distinct anatomic locations—diffuse intrinsic pontine, tectal, and cervicomedullary."

"And what does that mean for Angela?"

"Longer survival is associated with the tectal and cervicomedullary gliomas, based on where these lesions are located. As they grow, they will press on nerve endings, and will cause paralysis, sensory loss of the face. But I'm afraid, Angela's type is the first--intrinsic pontine tumors. And they carry a grave prognosis."

Hodgins rubbed his face and closed his eyes. Angela stared at the carpet and Dr. Ping elaborated, "They spread fast. As of right now, you may not feel the side-affects, but without treatment, it is only a matter of months before symptoms show."

"And what are they, doctor?" Hodgins murmured.

"Common presenting symptoms include double vision, weakness, unsteady gait, difficulty in swallowing, dysarthria, headache, drowsiness, nausea, and vomiting."

"Umm, the other doctors and specialists," Angela began quietly, "they didn't give us details…what I mean is, I have no idea how long I have, treatment options…"

Dr. Ping nodded and explained, "Over three-fourths of brainstem gliomas occur in children. Your are one of the rare adults who are afflicted with this type of cancer. Pontine tumors are the most common variety of brainstem tumor, and as I mentioned before, they also carry the worst prognosis; the median survival duration is 9-12 months even with treatment. Kaplan et al reported a 37 per cent survival rate at 1 year, 20 per cent at 2 years, and 13 per cent at 3 years, with a median survival of 10 months. Only 9 of 119 patients in their study were alive for more than 3 years after diagnosis."

Angela squeezed Hodgins' hand, but he felt nothing but numbness. The medical mumbo jumbo, the pitying look on the doctor's face, it meant nothing but one thing--that his Angela was going to die. He felt his insides roll, and he nearly vomited right there in the office. Dr. Ping looked at him, concerned, and asked, "Mr. Hodgins, are you alright?"

He waved a hand dismissively and croaked, "Um, treatment options, what are they?"

Angela turned her head slowly, and cautioned quietly, "Jack, I don't know--"

"Treatment?" Hodgins demanded, his voice pleading.

Dr. Ping sat back and studied the couple before her. "I'm sorry, am I missing something here? If it is a matter of money, Ms. Montenegro, for your hesitation in treatment options, there are plenty of programs--"

"Money isn't an option, what are Angela's choices," Hodgins interrupted . She released her hand and announced to Dr. Ping, "I'm pregnant." Hodgins placed his head in his hands as Angela finished softly, "I know…I know what that means."

Dr. Ping took off her glasses, and for a moment, her hard exterior shell cracked. She felt a wave of genuine sadness wash over her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she murmured, "Well…that may change things, then." Evolving back into a professional, Dr. Ping stated, "Treatment of brainstem gliomas have been…frustrating; at this point, new therapies have yielded little benefit over conventional treatment with radiotherapy alone. A type of radiotherapy--Focal--is the cornerstone of treatment of brainstem gliomas and can improve or stabilize the patient's condition, but it will not kill the cancer."

"If she started treatment now, what would happen?" Hodgins sighed wearily.

"Patients who underwent radiation therapy for these tumors have been reported to have better survival rates than those who don't. Radiotherapy should be administered as soon as the tumors turn malignant. As for surgery, it's dangerous due to the location. If she didn't die on the table she'd surely be paralyzed. And it's not a sure way to completely cure the cancer."

"Ok, surgery is out," Angela coughed. "What will chemo do to the baby?"

"In the United States, there are approximately 3500 cases of cancer-complicated pregnancies per year," Dr. Ping began. "All chemotherapeutic agents are potentially dangerous and mutagenic because they act on rapidly dividing cells. This means the chemo could cause fetal malformations, intrauterine growth restriction, spontaneous abortion, stillbirth or premature delivery."

"The baby doesn't have a chance, is what you're saying," Hodgins murmured to himself.

"Well," the doctor sighed, "possible outcomes depend on the particular treatment, its timing and duration, and the ability of the drug to cross the placenta…most chemotherapeutic agents do cross the placenta, however. While the greatest risk for birth defects occurs with first trimester exposure, second and third trimester exposures may result in transient bone marrow suppression, pancytopenia, intrauterine growth restriction low birth weight and prematurity. It has been suggested that chemotherapy be avoided for three weeks prior to delivery, in order to allow the mother to recover from treatment-related bone marrow suppression. In addition, the fetus can better metabolize these agents with the assistance of the maternal system, avoiding the persistence of high levels of drugs in the neonatal circulation."

"Everything is high-risk," Hodgins acknowledged.

"Too high-risk," Angela added grimly.

"What are you trying to say, Ms. Montenegro?"

"I'm saying…I'm saying I don't want treatment until my child is born--"

"Angela, please, be sensible," Hodgins started to beg, raw fear in his voice.

"Jack," Angela said quietly while grasping both his hands again, "this is probably the only--the last chance we'll have a child together. You heard Dr. Ping…one year…"

Hodgins started shaking his head, and Dr. Ping felt powerless to stop the heartbreak occurring in her own office. Tears threatened to spill, but Hodgins vowed not to release them, he needed to be strong for Angela, no matter how hard it was.

"Ma'am…the side effects will take a toll. You may lose the baby from the gliomas' symptoms. And there is the fact that you may not survive until the baby is born," Dr. Ping informed Angela.

"I know. But I know even with the chemo, I'm probably not going to last longer than 3 years…" Angela searched Hodgins' face, distantly understanding that she was excepting the inevitable better than her lover. It would hit later--right now, she felt nothing but a vacancy. The fact that her life was ending seemed so faraway...it was like she was dreaming, and she was hollow inside.

But yet...there was the little hope that part of her would survive with the child.

Closing her eyes, she made her decision.

"I'm going to keep the baby. And leave the treatment options behind."

* * *

AN: Medical sources include emedicine(dot) com/neuro/topic40 (dot) htm. and fetal-exposure (dot) org/CANCER (dot) html 


	18. Land of Shame

_**AN: I was gone in Disney for a week so sorry for the wait! This chapter explains why Booth is wanted, even after all these years. Everything comes full-circle...**_

**Chapter Eighteen: Land of Shame**

His movements were slow, his pale brown left eye—his only eye—twitching as he calmly set down the receiver of his satellite phone. Stepping outside of the hidden compound 20 miles from his personal bounty hunter, Roman Proditorson, a mix of emotions swirled around his cold heart. He scanned the horizon, past the rising of mountains and the hard flatlands. He felt satisfaction—content with the torture of the young American. The doctor was an enemy to the Black Commanders, and his unearthing of the swine he and his comrades put in the ground was a sin. He prayed that the doctor would suffer more…and an old hope that he would finally exact revenge for his mangled face. Sajida Shahbandar turned and stared at his reflection in a jeep mirror. As the right-hand man of the leader of the Black Commanders, he was terrifying. Shahbandar was possibly without a doubt, more frightening than the founder, Uday Kamel, not only in attitude, but physical appearance. A huge chunk of skin that should have been his cheek was replaced with hard, callous, scar tissue. A thick white scar screamed from his chin, cutting where a now orb-less eye socket remained and veering off to the temple. His bone structure had changed, his face bulging to the left. It was amazing he had survived the sniper's bullet. He remembered the warning from his leader that fateful night seventeen years ago, how if he hadn't tilted his head up, the bullet would have pierced his skull.

The onslaught of memories brought pure hatred for the American sniper who mutilated his life—Lt. Seeley Booth.

_1990_

_Booth stilled his pounding heart and carefully shifted his weight onto his elbows. The sky was a black cover, obscuring the stars and heavens. It was as if God was frowning on the violence and bloodshed Booth was involved in, damning the light for the young sniper as punishment for causing some of the death and destruction._

_At least Booth was now cloaked in the darkness._

_He flicked his eyes to his spotter, and was given the all-clear signal. Booth's eyes shifted back to the building, waiting for his targets to appear. His eyes slid down the barrel of the gun as he grimly recalled that this would be his 19__th__ and 20__th__ kill. He pushed back what human emotions that were still emanating from his tense body, and Booth evolved into a machine, a mere robot sent on a mission behind enemy lines. The task was simple—take out the two main movers of a forming death squad. Booth couldn't recall the name of the group. The Iraqi allies had difficulty in taking out the two leaders, mostly because the new, unnamed death squad sent out assassins. Those who carried out the massacres was a disease, murdering and silencing the innocent who dared oppose Saddam's regime. It was Booth's job to stop the murders, and it would only be a matter of minutes before the deed was done…_

_

* * *

_

_Uday Kamel motioned for one of his guards to investigate the tiniest movement of shadows. As commander of his newly budding party, the most loyal fighters for Saddam, he needed to be alert. Nights as black as that only spelled trouble and bad fortune. Then it hit him—the name for his group—the Black Commanders. He smiled in satisfaction from the sudden inspiration. Turning and gently picking up a tiny, fragile bundle, Kamel went to investigate with his most trusted comrade. He knew it was dangerous to take the 'package' with him, but he did not trust for it to be alone. His doubts were alleviated when he heard Shahbandar snicker softly. He started laughing when he heard a deadly bullet from Shahbandar's silencer pierce the spine of a hidden intruder._

_

* * *

_

_Booth's ears picked up the final gasp of air as his spotter toppled over lifeless, blood spurting from a wound in the back, and gurgling slowly from the mouth. He reacted quickly, his eyes locking onto the hidden guard. Guilt for not catching the movement swirled him, but now he had a head shot. He started to pull the trigger when a booming voice echoed from the building he was watching. The man lifted his head up the exact moment the bullet from Booth's M-14 shot outwards. Booth watched as the bullet impacted with Shahbandar's face, bone shattering and skin ripping. Shahbander staggered back and collapsed, still and unmoving. Uday Kamel immediately went for cover, but he had already stepped outside to see whom the intruder was. Booth had a clear shot, but his blood froze in his veins when he saw what Kamel was clutching to his chest._

_It was an infant…a daughter._

_Booth panicked, never having dealt with this situation before. The child was innocent, what would happen to her in the heat when morning came? What if he missed and hit the girl instead…_

_And that hesitation was all Kamel's additional men needed to climb on the roof and overtake Booth. He was now a prisoner._

* * *

Zach was dragged to a dank and rancid cell, and pain finally ricocheted through his battered body. Shock had taken its toll long ago, and Zach didn't know how much longer he could last. Bones were broken. His blood loss was at levels incredibly dangerous, and he believed he was still bleeding internally from the bullet. He was dehydrated and battered, dazed, and he felt a new ache. 

His best friends were diving headfirst into a trap, and it was all because of him.

The doors slammed shut, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd see Booth and Brennan again. For the first time since his capture, he wished desperately that no one would come for him.

Rescue clearly meant death now.


	19. A Better Place

**Chapter Nineteen: A Better Place.**

He had never before felt so wonderful.

The cold stone and the pulsing throb of his injuries, the tender bruising and the sharp jolt of fractures faded away into nothingness. What was once numb returned to him, waves of comfort and rest washing over the shell of his broken body. For the first time in days, Zach could breathe without terror and guilt. His senses were crystal-clear. He could smell the coming rain, hear how the breeze lifted the leaves of the sparse vegetation rooted into the dried land. Tasting tiny sand grains, Zach had the vague sense of lying out in the open of a valley, yet he was not burned or discomforted in any way. He couldn't describe what he was feeling, other than that it was...perfect.

He opened his eyes then.

Zach found himself standing on a small dirt path, and off in the distance against the backdrop of rising mountains, he spotted his former team, working diligently on the mass graves, before the nightmare of that evening. His observing eyes fell on Dr. Sarah Mitchells, and he felt a pang of remorse. She was the one who should have lived, in his mind. She didn't deserve to die because she showed fear. Human emotions. Something Zach was still trying to get a handle on. The scene dispersed as a cool breeze cleansed the air, and erased the memory before it turned violent. Instead, the mirage was replaced with what he wished had occurred. The screams and bloodshed were reversed, and the innocent victims of senseless massacres were given names and faces again. His colleagues were alive, and Sarah was able to go home to her twin daughters. Zach didn't know why she hadn't mentioned them before, or how he suddenly knew what made her tick, but he found that it didn't matter. He had been able to return to the Jeffersonian, to the welcoming arms of his friends. He was changed, but he welcomed it. He wasn't this static science experiment, or a lost alien baby, as Hodgins would lightly (sometimes seriously though) joke. Zach's life now meant something, and he had truly made the world a better place.

"This is what should have happened. Why can't everything be rational?" Zach shook his head in anguish.

"Boy, aren't you an observer."

Zach spun on his heels slowly and made eye contact with a very familiar face. The small boy from his delusions in that pit was back, but this time there was no cynicism or malice within his voice. He gave Zach a pitying smile before standing at his side.

"You know," the nameless victim began, "I'm surprised you made it out this long."

Zach shrugged his shoulders. "I can only remain here until my body shuts down. After that…"

The boy mimicked Zach's shrug. "Don't you think your will to live has something to do with that?"

"I don't really put much stock into what the mind can supposedly do," Zach murmured. He began to feel an odd pulsing in his wrist.

"You were just thinking, how if none of this happened, you would have made a difference in the world," the child commented. He pinched the bridge off his nose, as if concentrating very hard. Zach looked at him curiously, but the boy offered no explanation.

"I'm starting to feel as if my work at the Jeffersonian has made my life worth-while. Rationally, I've helped put more criminals in prison than here."

The boy frowned slightly; as if he was regretting what he was about to ask. "Does that mean you're not afraid to let go anymore?"

Zach breathed deeply and said softly, "This feels nice. I haven't felt peace like this for so long. It's like the pain and trauma I've experienced had wiped away all my good memories."

"You're wrong," the boy commented quietly. Zach peered down at him, not understanding.

The boy shifted his nearly coal-black eyes to Zach's and explained. "I wish I could tell you that you did make this world a better place. But it's not true."

"I don't understand," Zach said hoarsely. He inhaled sharply when a burning sensation shot through his back. His hand clamped down on the origin of pain, and it came away with blood. The boy pinched his forehead again and muttered angrily, "We don't have much time left."

"What's happening?" Zach pleaded, "I don't understand."

"You put some bad guys away. Big deal. Statistically, someone would have caught them sometime. Your life hasn't been as meaningful as you like to think," the boy answered almost apologetically.

"But I kept those criminals from hurting others. Without me, Dr. Brennan and Dr. Hodgins would have been killed, and I know they saved more people than me," Zach argued. He felt himself growing faint, and his head was throbbing with the intensity of a sand storm.

"Again, _statistically_, people are going to die. You just stayed Brennan's and Hodgins' times so to speak, so they can continue identifying murder victims that took their _statistical_ spot." Softly, he added, "Yes. If you die now, your life was the equivalent as waste. I'm sorry, but it's the truth."

Zach sank to his knees, and the world became cold stone again. The outside world evolved into the dank claustrophobic cell. The little boy stood over him as Zach was reduced to collapsing against the floor.

"Why are you telling me this?" Zach cried, defeated.

The figure before him started to diminish, and only a whispered answer reached Zach's ears.

"You need to keep holding on…because the world is going to need you, if it has any chance on becoming a better place."

Darkness closed in, equally matching the intensity of Zach's murdered spirit. He was supposed to hold on, grip onto life even though there was no lifeline to keep him from drowning.

And Zach was already sinking fast.

* * *

_AN: In case anyone was confused, Zach was having another hallucination. Got some action coming up in exactly TWO chapters. [Cue evil musik _


	20. Chapter 20

Due to tragic events, the author of this fanfic will not be able to post any new chapters for several weeks. Thank you and apologies for any inconveniences.


	21. Song Without a Name

_AN: I'll keep this short. I apologize for the wait, but unfortunately, after tragic events in my life, I could not write anything, much less breathe right. Thank you to all who understood._

_And screw everyone else who chose to ignore that fact and demanded updates._

**Chapter 20: A Song Without a Name**

_Cold. So cold._

_The cement floor and the cement walls and the dark. Oh, so dark. Shivering, teeth chattering, slashes stretching and constricting. Lungs filling with water. Don't puke, they'll keep you under longer._

_Sting, pound._

_The bastards are bringing the whips out again. I can't, not again – NO!_

_Bleeding, aching._

_Dying._

_Punch._

_Break._

_Poison._

_Dying._

And there was the distinct possibility he had to go through it all over again.

"…Booth, look at me."

"What?" Booth snapped. He kept his eyes on the dirt road stretching in front of him, alert for any possible rebel attacks.

"You look ill," Brennan said simply. Booth released a mirthless guffaw.

"I guess you could say that. I'm just nervous as hell, Bones."

"You're scared."

Booth finally looked at her, anger creeping into his eyes. Was she actually mocking him? She met his stare with cool, calculating eyes that masked the same fear. He could tell she meant no malice by the way she bit her lower lip slightly, and how her hand was awkwardly frozen to the seat of the car, halfway between restraint and gripping his hand for comfort. She was warring between heart and brain, and brain definitely was trying to win out. He relaxed and admitted finally, "Yeah, Bones. I'm scared. For everything. If something goes wrong…it's game over for Zach and I."

"I'd get help," Brennan insisted defiantly.

"Doesn't work like that, darling," Booth drawled out. "They'd shoot us dead. And to be honest, I don't know if I could make it again if they kept me alive," he hinted.

He felt pressure on his hand. Peering down quickly he found Brennan's own hand, which was no longer clamping the seat in indecision, was cupping the top of his. She squeezed his fingers and replied, "You're a fighter, Booth. It's what got you out the first time."

The Arabian sun had already begun to set as they raced towards Jameenza. The sky was aglow with a deep red and shading pink hues that case the desert sand into a pale sea. The sparse green vegetation turned black under the setting ball of fire, and the jeep carrying Booth and Brennan became part of the landscape, barely noticeable now as it sped on scorched earth and dirt, around tiny hills and drifting sand dunes. The angry sun turned to the images of blood, and Booth's stomach roiled at the sudden onslaught of memories.

So much blood and pain.

Booth felt a heaviness crush his chest. "Funny how vivid everything is, but so choppy. I couldn't remember time passing, ya know?" he croaked out. "It's like one of those old songs you hear on the radio. You haven't heard it for years, maybe even a decade or two, and you stop whatever you're doing to try to sing along. Because you know—you remember one time it meant so much to you. But you just can't bring back what it was called. That's kinda how this whole thing feels, without the nostalgia."

Brennan was silent as the surrounding hills became flatter. Lights dotted the distance and Jameenza rose from the desert like a slumbering giant.

"We're about 30 minutes away at this speed," Booth commented as he held reign on his storming insides.

"Booth."

"Yeah?"

He turned and looked at his partner and was surprised to find a frantic, searching, almost agonizing quality in her eyes and face.

"What's the matter?" Are you okay?"

She uttered, "I won't let them get you. I swear to you, they won't touch you. We're going to get Zach back, and everything—I mean everything will be okay again." She nodded to herself. "Yes. We're going to be okay."

"Is that your heart or your brain talking?"

"Brain, of course. It's almost always brain, Booth. You know that. Due to our knowledge of the situation and outside enforcements…it doesn't take a scientist to see we have the upper hand," Brennan answered, her voice slightly wavering.

He smiled sadly. She was a horrible liar.

"Then that's good enough for me, Tempe," he replied quietly. He lifted her hand and gave a quick peck to her knuckles before removing his hand completely from hers. Ignoring her quizzical stare and hesitation on reacting to the gesture, he announced, "Get ready, Bones. This is going to be a long night, even if everything goes to plan."

­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

Keeping to the shadows of the inner city, Brennan was kept close to Booth. Se could feel his gentle but firm grip on her elbow as they wound there way through the alleys, following leads on the in-town mercenary. She looked down to her knuckles, where Booth had kissed her…and she found she was not offended, nor annoyed by the sudden and almost irrational intimacy. _Don't go there, Bren. You've started traveling this road too many times in the past, but you've always been able to think sensibly. He is your partner. He is your best friend. The added adrenaline and stress is causing you to think groundlessly and illogically. When you get back to the States with Zach, you'll go back to the way things are supposed to be._

_Quit kidding yourself. You know Zach is probably dead. You know things aren't going to be the same, ever._

"Bones, I think I see our guy. Standing in front of the bazaar on the right—in the mock fatigues." Booth whispered quietly as he clicked off the safety of his gun. He placed the weapon under his shirt and added, "Mercenaries and guns. Never goes right for the guy pointing one at the assassin."

"I wouldn't think so," Brennan added blandly.

The mercenary suddenly called out, "You can stay where you're at. Keep your hands behind your heads!"

"Should we worry?" Brennan spit out as she froze in her tracks.

"Not yet," Booth smiled grimly. "But I don't like the looks of those 2 men pointing guns at us in the lock and load position."

"Didn't you see them before?" Brennan hissed.

"Yes. They're body guards," Booth said simply. "Why'd you think I put my gun away? Since our heads weren't blown off our shoulders, they're more worried about what we're here for than the other way around. This is a good thing, trust me."

"Normally you'd shoot them by now," Brennan grit out.

Booth rolled his eyes slightly and raised his hands wordlessly behind his head. Brennan performed the same motion and called out, "I just want my colleague and friend back, Dr. Zach Addy!"

"Bones, just keep quiet!"

"Lady, I know what you want," the mercenary called back. He stepped from the shadows and lowered his weapon slightly, while his two assistants kept their fingers on the triggers. The man before Booth and Brennan was short, but incredibly muscled. His skin was permanently browned to the hue of cedar wood, and the stiff-necked man added with a German accent, "The name's Kissinger. I heard you seek my services."

"Your services got Zach's team killed," Brennan spat vehemently.

"Bones—"

Kissinger spit tobacco onto the road and shot back, "No, the Black Commanders requested my tracking expertise, bitch. What they did with the information is entirely up to them. Shit for your guy, but great money for me. That's how the world works, you stupid whore! Now I suggest, before you find a bullet in your foot, to shut the hell up. Take a lesson from your surroundings and don't speak when spoken to, and respect any walking organism with a dick. It worked for the women out here for thousands of years—do the same."

"Booth…" Brennan trailed off, her voice fighting a fit of fury.

Her partner fought to keep from grabbing his weapon and swallowed the lump of pure hatred for the mercenary. Closing his eyes and counting to ten, he whispered under his breath, "I'm gonna pretend he didn't just say that, Bones. For now on, you will do what I say and stay _quiet."_

Before Brennan could object at Booth's firm demand, he called back, "Why was Zach taken? Why were you hired out?"

"Who wants to know," Kissinger demanded.

"It'll better help us get him back. We can pay you whatever you need, but we already know the most you're gonna do for us is tell us where he his."

"Damned right. Those guys—no matter how much those pieces of shit needs to rot—contract me a helluva lot. Your doctor friend was taken because 1) he's an American, and 2) he was uncovering some nasty secrets. The Black Commanders, from what I understand, love guns and dead people. Preferably, if their guns cause the people to die. The leader—Uday Kamel—is probably clinically insane. He seems to forget that Saddam isn't in power anymore, and that the Black Commanders need to purify the country from infidels and political factions against the previous dictatorship. Iraqi government would have stepped in with the cavalry if they had solid evidence about the mini-genocides that have occurred over the years, and the Black Commanders know that. Your buddy was uncovering that evidence—so now he gets to serve as an example and possible money maker," Kissinger explained.

"How do we know what you're telling us now and later is the truth," Booth challenged. "You worked for the Black Commanders many times before; how do we know this isn't a trap?"

"No offense, dumbass, but I'm the one with the guns. It really wouldn't matter now, would it? You're gonna have to trust me when I tell you I hold no vows to clients. Whoever hires me first is the way I've always worked. I'm not some corporation's little bitch," Kissinger stated smugly.

Brennan questioned, "How much for Zach's location. Roman Proditorson couldn't give it out."

Kissinger frowned and replied, less confident, "It's gonna cost ya 5 grand for the location. Did you just say Roman? I thought you were with Burty Steels."

"Wait, who the hell is Burty Steels?" Booth demanded.

"Steels is an associate that I can trust. That asshole Roman got your doctor into trouble in the first place."

Booth felt his insides light on fire. "What?" he demanded icily.

"He was the guy who alerted the B.C. about the uncovering of the mass graves. Roman brought Zach back to their headquarters—"

"Son of a bitch!" Booth swore. "I was wrong about that traitor, Bones! How could I have been so stupid…?"

"Booth, you couldn't have known—" Brennan protested.

"We need to get moving, now."

Kissinger broke in the confusion, with his gun aimed directly at Booth's chest, "Someone needs to tell me now if it wasn't Steels fax I got, then who the hell it was!"

Then out of the shadows of the blanketing evening, a voice on a loudspeaker boomed out, "Burty's taking a long nap in the sand!" Rapid fire shot from seemingly thin air instantly and Kissinger stumbled back as red splotches painted his shirt. He collapsed with a strange gurgling eliciting from his throat. Booth pulled Brennan down and covered her body with his as the volley of bullets took out the two bodyguards. Brennan screamed as the dust kicked up inches from her face; she could feel the force of the bullets pound into the earth.

"Are you okay? Are you hit!?" Booth demanded as he shifted his arms over her head and neck. She muffled a, "I'm fine!" as the hail of metal began to lessen, and then finally, stop completely.

"Stay down, don't get up!" Booth insisted as he gripped his gun. Brennan struggled to breathe under his protective weight. Chaotic images and senses shocked her brainwaves as she fought to take in everything that was happening.

_Tasted dirt _

_Smelled acrid gunfire. _

_Could make out Booth's soothing cologne even. _

_Saw a long scratch down the side of his face. _

_Felt my hands rubbed raw from hitting the ground. _

_Felt Booth's pounding heartbeat._

And for a moment, she felt safe.

Then, like ghosts coming out of a fog, a group of seven or eight men came from the surrounding buildings and stood on the balconies of their hidden perches. All clenched automatic weapons, and all were adorned in simple black combative fatigues. Approaching from the center of the group of men on the ground, Roman Proditorson grimaced tersely as he tossed the loudspeaker into the garbage.

"Sorry, Booth. Money's money."

"You're not taking me without a fight," Booth threatened. "You know I can get at least one of you bastards before a bullet leaves your barrel."

Roman nodded. "Then your lady friend is dead, too. Come quietly, please." For the first time as far as Brennan could tell, Roman sounded sincere. "She gets to leave. The Black Commanders have no need or use for her. She'd be a nuisance; don't let your ego get her killed, Booth. Lower your weapon, now."

Tense moments passed. Brennan looked pleadingly into Booth's eyes and shook her head no. "Don't do this, Booth. Don't…"

But it was useless. Booth closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Getting to his feet, he dropped his gun. Roman tapped his foot impatiently as the others ransacked the car for Booth's sniper rifle and seized any other weapons. Brennan rose to her feet, and stood in front of Booth.

"I told you—I promised you," she begged.

He diverted his eyes to the ground.

No promises could help them now.


	22. We Will Meet Again

AN: I refuse to acknowledge what happened to Zach in the season finale. I substitute your reality and replace it with my own.

**Chapter Twenty-Two: We Will Meet Again**

It can't end like this.

Brennan's mind raced frantically for some solution to the standoff, and found that with the passing seconds, that there was none. Booth was caught; Roman had played them this whole time. He wouldn't have been the first; a certain deceased serial killer had muddled things up previously. _Roman could very well be the last…Booth's going to die. I know that much, and so did Booth going into this. _

_Oh God…I caused this._

Brennan swallowed hard as Booth dropped his gun in the sand. The others began to ransack the jeep for any other weapons and confiscated the rifle. She heard the whoosh of air as all four tires were slashed. _I have the Glock still. It doesn't look like they're going to check me. I could…what would I be able to do? They'd just shoot me, and then Zach and Booth would have no chance at all…_. Brennan felt panic and the traces of despair flooding her thought process. Zach was family: Booth was her best friend and partner. She couldn't lose them both! _I love them. I can't leave them to die._

"I told you…I promised you," she pleaded.

He diverted his eyes to the ground.

"Damn it, look at me! I won't let them take you!" Brennan demanded. Booth took her by the arms and responded tersely, "You are going to walk away from this. You are going to Base Salinger and you are to remain there. You are going to tell them what happened, and leave it to them—"

"The hell I won't!" Brennan spat defiantly.

Roman broke in, "I'm afraid that's exactly what you're going to do. We want Booth; you get to live. Surely you must understand that rarely happens."

Another voice broke in, thickly accented, and added, "Though by the time you get back, the two Americans will be rotting under the sand." Booth let go of Brennan's arm, and he felt bile rise in his throat. He recognized the new speaker; Booth's eyes followed the thickened calloused scar that screamed from the speaker's chin, where it cut into an orb-less eye socket. The scar veered off toward the temple and ended suddenly, leaving a splotched, blossom-like scar. Booth new what had happened to the heavily guarded man that now stood next to Roman. The scar was a gunshot wound. He had the fortune of turning his head at a different angle as a sniper's bullet was fired. Instead of piercing the skull instantly, it had skimmed the bone surfaces and had a blown a hole through the back flap of scalp. Booth heard it could theoretically happen: he never thought someone could still survive the carnage.

It didn't matter much: Booth was the one who screwed the shot up seventeen years ago. It was the last shot he fired before being captured by Uday's men.

"My name is Sajida Shahbandar. Soldier, you ruined my face. I hope you understand what that means," he stated icily.

"What does that mean?" Brennan whispered to Booth.

He didn't answer her, and it dawned on Brennan. _Torture. _

Shahbandar motioned to the bodyguard beside him and added, "Jamal Hassan, my associate, has been having a field day with the boy you searched for."

"Is he still alive?" Booth asked carefully.

Roman answered, "For now."

Booth nodded. He turned back to Brennan and said, "I'll keep alive as long as I can. Get help." For once, Brennan remained silent, and Booth felt as if someone kicked him in the kidneys. He had let her down. _You knew this was probably going to happen._

"It's time to say goodbye," Booth told Brennan.

She shook her head and he could see restrained tears in her eyes. She wouldn't let them fall; she was too strong for that. That was one of the many things he loved about her.

_Loved._

_I guess she may never know it. How funny, _he thought silently, _that finally coming to terms with that was so simple and uncomplicated. I wish the rest of the world was like that._ Her voice, tight but in control reminded him, "Goodbyes bite, remember?"

"Then how about 'we will meet again'," Booth pulled her into a hug. He whispered into her ear, "Please…don't do anything stupid. Just get out of here, and don't look back."

She gripped his shoulders in her arms as hard as she could and sniffled, "You mean don't do anything you would do."

He pulled her back and saw there was still fight in her eyes. If she wouldn't give up on him, if she still thought that this wasn't the end…then maybe, just maybe, something would change, and he would survive this. With any luck…he'd bring Zach back home. He stared at her eyes, her face, her lips…he froze them in his memory. Brennan saw what he was doing and placed a hand on his cheek.

"We will meet again," she repeated, not caring how melodramatic it sounded. If the situation had been vastly different, she would have laughed, he would have laughed, and that would have been the end of it. One gigantic laugh-fest back at the lab, where Zach would have looked on with confusion, Angela and Hodgins would have shot off some sarcastic remark and Cam would tell them to get it together. Everything was right, back at home. He nodded and without warning, pulled her closer to his body. Before she could register what was happening, his lips crashed onto hers with a sense of urgency, panic almost. Brennan's lips automatically met his and she kissed him back with the same need. In the back of her head, she supposed it would have come to this. There had been small, subtle signs during the whole time Booth and she set foot on Iraqi soil. The burning touches. The sudden tense awkwardness when they were close, her goggling at his bare chest…and the intensified fear for his safety and well-being. _Bren! _Her mind screamed. _You're just caught up in the situation. You're scared; you think you're never going to see him again. People in these highly tensed situations react to the adrenaline their bodies make to handle the stress…_ Brennan paused only the slightest of seconds before answering to herself, _screw it. _She pulled his head down and the kiss deepened. Her lips parted and his tongue darted in, exploring her sweetness. She pressed herself against him once again. _I can't let him go. I can't let him go. _Abruptly, he pulled away, and she could see sorrow in his eyes. _Why had they waited until now to bring this underlying current between their partnership and friendship to surface?_ Brennan's thoughts raced back into reality: _we're going to need to talk, if I get him back…ONCE I get him back._

Answering her shocked brainwaves, he told her, "We talk about this when I get back." Without another word, he left Brennan and walked toward Roman with his hand behind his head. He didn't look back as Roman and Jamal led him to an awaiting transport vehicle. A plain, tan van equipped with a rifle carrying driver. Shahbandar entered the passenger side while Booth was prodded roughly into back with the other bodyguards. Brennan stood rooted to the spot until the vehicle's ignition was started. Roman was the sole person left, and he had a gun pointed at her. He backed up slowly, and once at the van, he lowered his weapon.

"I will bring them back!" Brennan called out. "You've just made the biggest mistake of your life."

Roman smirked as he jumped into the van. "Lady, go home. You've got nothing left here."

The door slammed shut, and Brennan was left alone as the van sped down the alley and out unto the main road. A thick bellowing cloud of brown dust was kicked up and Brennan vowed to disappearing vehicle, "You're wrong. I've still got everything left to lose here, and I will bring them back."

* * *

"I hope you enjoyed that," Roman spoke to Booth, all the while training the rifle on Booth, "because that's the last time you're going to even see a woman. That was a mighty good show."

"Why are you doing this?" Booth asked, ignoring Roman's exchange completely.

The other man blew air out forcefully. "The same reason why I turned your doctor friend in. For money. There's nothing personal: it's the job. Even if I had known Addy was one of yours, I still would have given him to the Black Commanders."

"Money never drove you this hard," Booth responded coldly. "You saved my ass—"

"Shut your mouth!" Roman hissed. An unspoken warning was sent to Booth through Roman's steely eyes. _You even mention what I did for you in front of Shabandar, and we're both dead!_

Booth tossed him a wicked grin, and looked toward Shabandar.

"Hey Scarface! You might want to ask Roman why I escaped--"

Before Booth could finish, Roman whipped the butt of the rifle around and smacked Booth upside the head. He fell heavily, stars dancing in front of his eyes. _Not the smartest move ever, but I know Shabandar's gonna grill Roman about my escape from 17 years ago. If I'm going down so is this betraying bastard._

Roman knelt down and Booth grimaced as the van sped over a pothole. His head throbbed bad, but not enough to make him black out.

Roman hissed, "Wrong. Money does drive me. I grew up shit-poor in the back alleys of London. Do you really think I give a damn about you or anyone else anymore? Helping people comes back to bite you in the ass. I helped you and look now: you're back and you're a thorn in my side. Money is my weakness the way honor and loyalty is yours. Soldiers die on the front lines in any war, any country, any time period because of loyalty to someone or something that doesn't give a damn about them in return. You never should have come for the boy, Lt. Instead of one life being taken, there will be two. Look what loyalty does."

"You're scared," Booth hissed back. "You know when the van stops your buddies Shabandar and Uday will interrogate you about what happened 17 years ago. If I go down, you're going down with me."

Roman kicked Booth in he ribs and was winding up again when Shabandar barked, "Enough! Lt. Booth, you are going to die. Painfully. For my face, and for being the only escapee Uday has to date." The van began to roll to a stop and Roman became alarmed. Booth took satisfaction from the man's fear. Shabandar swung a gun around to the back and ordered, "You are getting out. Consider this a contract termination."

"I can explain," Roman began to beg.

"GET OUT OR I SHOOT YOU FOR THE TRAITOR YOU ARE! I've heard enough, it does not matter how long ago you switched loyalties. By all rights I should kill you," Shabandar shot back.

Roman looked outside and saw nothing but desert. He turned back to Booth, swore, and clambered out of the van. As soon as his feet touched sand, a single gunshot pierced the air, and Roman felt burning fire in his left foot.

"Try walking back to the Gates now!" Jamal challenged. The door shut once again, leaving Roman alone, cast off. Booth picked himself off the floor and questioned, "Gates?"

Without turning Shabandar replied, "Our compound is 20 minutes from the Gates. You were so close, soldier. So close to getting what you wanted. Your wish will be granted shortly. Very shortly. Prepare yourself: we have a score to settle."


	23. My TV and You

**Chapter Twenty-Three: My TV and You**

_Click._

"Tonight on CNN, what are the dangers hidden in your refrigerator—"

_Click._

"I love you, you love me, we're all one big happy family—"

_Click._

"Next week on House—"

_Click._

Angela sighed and switched the television off, her nerves unable to take much more than the silence that surrounded her. Hodgins was working late at the lab, and she couldn't blame him. She wouldn't want to be around a terminally ill loved one, either.

Stop it. He's like Brennan. They work to get their thoughts under control. 'Cause how else are you going to deal with a pregnant cancer bomb?

She blinked, picked the remote off the couch, and threw it against the television. She watched a thin line crack at the impact.

And she began to sob.

Broken thoughts filtered into her head, out of control and rapid. _My child…I won't be there…maybe, just maybe, I'll prove freak miracle…I could live…3 years with treatment. At most…where the hell is Brennan? She should have called a day ago. I want Zach back…we can't lose us both…what is Jack going to do? Who's going to watch out for him? Will I make it to term?_

_Is it going to hurt when I die?_

…

_I broke the damned television set._

Her telephone began to ring, and Angela fought to control her crying. If it was Jack…she couldn't let him hear her like this. She loved him too much to put him through anymore…_heartache. That's the word. _She blew her nose, cleared her throat, and answered the phone on the sixth ring.

"Hello?"

Static filled the connection.

"Hello, Jack? Is that you?" Angela asked. "I can barely hear you."

"Ange, it's Brennan."

Angela breathed a sigh of relief: this was the first time she heard from her best friend in days. "Are you okay? Why haven't you called?"

"I'm calling you now," Brennan pointed out.

"From where?" Angela grilled. "I'm not playing games, are you and Booth okay?"

"I'm calling from a satellite phone. Zach's alive, Angela." Static fuzzed the line more.

_Bren, your phone sucks…wait…what?? _"Oh thank God, you've found Zach! Do the others know? When are you coming home? Is he hurt? Is Booth there with you? Let me talk to one of them—"

"Angela," Brennan interrupted. Angela's heart dropped. Through the static, she could hear a tight grimness in her best friend's throat.

"What's wrong?" Angela demanded.

The other woman paused. Angela nearly shrieked, "Tempe!"

"Booth is getting Zach back…you can tell the others if you want to," Brennan clarified. There was another stilted pause, and Brennan asked, "Ange…how are you holding up?"

"Better if you told me what's going on? What do you mean Booth's getting Zach back? Are they okay?"

"I'm talking about the baby and your…problem."

"And I'm talking about our family. Where are they?" Angela demanded.

There was an extended silence, and Angela thought the connection had broken. Suddenly, with clarity finally coming over the line, Brennan replied, "I can't tell you…I don't know myself. But they're okay: and I will be bringing them back home."

Angela felt tears begin to slip from her eyes again. "Why do I get the feeling that you're lying?"

"You're just going to have to trust me," Brennan soothed. "I promise you: everything will work out. Now, tell me what's happening with your situation…I miss you guys…I'm sorry I'm not there."

Angela swiped her eyes, knowing the high-pitched quality in Brennan's voice was her defense mechanism to fight crying. She cleared her throat once more and said, "I'm not doing chemo, which is the only thing the doctors could do to combat the cancer, due to its location. It'll kill the baby."

She then lied, "But as soon as I give birth, and you become an Auntie Tempe, I'll start. Outlook is good. They would have liked to start earlier, but even if I wait to give birth, I still have a 60 percent chance of survival the first year, 78 percent the second year, and 83 percent the third. By then, I should be in remission."

"Ange…why do I have the feeling that you're lying?"

She smiled sadly. "Looks like we both suck at the truth. How about this: when you do whatever you need to do, and when you come home, I'll let you know what's up. Deal?"

"Deal," Brennan agreed emotionlessly. "I gotta go, Ange, but I called also to let you know…you're all my family. Whatever happens..."

"Yeah, Bren," Angela finished for her friend. "We love you, too."

"Thank you."

"I'll pass the message on that you have a lead on Zach, and that he's alive. I'll leave out the rest, okay? No need to scare the masses. Just promise me, promise me you'll be careful."

"I will. Goodbye, Ange."

"Goodbye, Tempe. Bring our boys back home."

The line was disconnected, leaving Angela alone with a broken TV set.


	24. Lady of Dreams

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Lady of Dreams**

Brennan shut her satellite phone softly, battling a sudden urge to take the nearest red eye back to the States, where she belonged. Angela was her best friend, and Brennan knew she was very close to losing her. She had lied for the same reason why Brennan hid the truth about Booth and Zach: to keep up a façade of false security, to hold off the panic and fear for one another's dire situations. Before Booth became her partner, there was only Angela who brought the human element into the lab, even if it meant forcing Brennan out of the science world and into bars, malls, concerts, and aimless road trips with the high risk of suffering mild social humiliation. "It's good for the soul, Sweetie. Trust me, embarrassment needs to grace your cheeks every now and then." In the beginning of their friendship, Angela worried over Brennan's safety and called every few hours to make sure she was staying out of trouble, no matter the distance or veiled threats born from Brennan's annoyance at being pulled away from a mass grave, coroner's office, or in some cases, much needed sleep. Brennan found she could trust Angela in her weakest moments, in those times where Brennan was disenchanted by the world and by the work she had dedicated her entire life to. Without Angela…Brennan wouldn't have been half the person she was now. She rubbed her brow wearily, knowing that if given the chance to go home that instant, she would not have considered taking it, not for a moment. There was nothing she was able to do to help Angela…but she could still try to save Booth and Zach. The young prodigy was family; she couldn't stress that enough, since her own was so broken. And Booth…he was just as responsible as Angela for dragging Brennan, kicking and screaming, into life. Her lips burned briefly at the thought of him, and with that new sensation, came an almost unbearable ache in her heart for all her friends. Angela and Jack suffered as one; so would Zach and Booth. Brennan remained in the middle of those two vastly different battlegrounds, knowing one was already lost. The other was on the verge of becoming conquered if she didn't react now. She closed her eyes and turned her mind into a blank slate, washing away the residues of helplessness and fear. _You have nothing left to lose. Only to gain…now go get them._ Opening her eyes again, she knew it was time to keep her promise.

To Booth.

To the sake of friendship.

To the love of family.

To herself.

She wouldn't lose them all. She couldn't.

Flipping her phone open again, Brennan dialed a number she had memorized during the flight from D.C. to Baghdad. Within seconds, she was patched through to Base Salinger. There was a small click, followed by, "U.S. Army Military Base Salinger Communications Center. Where may we direct your call?"

"I need to speak with Lt. Don King, 165th Infantry," Brennan supplied.

"I'm afraid that we are unable to patch you through to a specific soldier. I'll direct your call to Command Information."

Before Brennan could protest, the feminine voice was replaced with a gruff, aged one.

"Sgt. John Winchester at Command Center."

"Sgt. Winchester," Brennan began, "My name is Doctor Temperance Brennan. I am an American forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington D.C. I need to speak with Lt. Don King. I understand he is currently in charge of sending expeditions out into the surrounding area to uncover mass graves. This is very urgent."

"Doctor Brennan, I'm afraid I'm unable to—" Winchester answered carefully.

Brennan interrupted, "Sir, I have information about the massacre that occurred earlier this week. Correct me if I am wrong, but some of your own soldiers deaths' are still an unsolved case, other than 'massacre'."

There was a long silence before Winchester warned, "Ma'am, this better not be a joke, and second, it better be good. We've had the press breathing down our necks on this one, and information we've received thus far are from a bunch of wankers wanting their fifteen minutes of fame. The families are grieving; we don't need any more tragedy." He sighed and added, "Hold for one minute."

Fifty-one seconds later, an even rougher voice answered, "Lt. Don King speaking. I hear you have information for us." He leaned forward in his chair, his muscles tensed with stress and suspicion. True to definition military man, his black-cropped hair, hoarse voice from smoking a pack a day for ten years and hardened body hid the fact that his emotional and mental strength were about to shatter. At twenty-eight, he was already the head of some of the major operations that took place in the Iraqi rural areas, plenty of which included unearthing mass graves. His last group, including the very dead Dr. Sarah Mitchells and the missing-presumed dead Dr. Zach Addy—two people who should never have been out in a war zone in the first place—were gone. He was responsible for them: now he had carried the duty of informing loved ones and family of their untimely deaths, via violent massacre. The fact that they didn't even know which terrorist group was responsible was salt on the wound.

"Dr. Zach Addy is my colleague," Brennan explained. "I want to inform you that I know he is alive, and is being held captive along with my partner, Special Agent Seeley Booth of the F.B.I. He also was a sniper and served with the Rangers."

"Slow down, and how in the hell did you get this information?"

"I came to Iraq with my partner because no efforts were being made to rescue Zach Addy," Brennan said brusquely. "My partner, Agent Booth, had knowledge of this place and possible contacts due to the time he served in the Army."

King blew smoke from a newly lighted cigarette from his nose and asked, "You said they were being held captive? By whom?"

"_Aswad qaa'id," _Brennan supplied. "The Black Commanders."

She heard King swear and he replied, "I thought those radicals had all but died out. It makes sense though—they were responsible for the mass graves your Dr. Addy dug up."

Brennan nodded, "Yes. Exactly. Zach was taken as a warning. Booth was taken captive after a betrayal from a source, a mercenary named Roman Proditorson, several ours ago in Jameenza."

"Why?"

"Old business," Brennan said grimly.

"Where are they now?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't know?"

"What about this Roman?"

"I don't know that either."

There was a frustrated sigh and King answered stiffly, "So all we have is that Zach Addy was taken hostage as a warning by the Black Commanders, your buddy was backstabbed and taken by the same group, and you have no idea where they are now?"

"Correct," Brennan deadpanned.

"I'm sorry, but all that information does is shed light on the situation. There's nothing we can do."

Brennan nearly exploded with rage. "Surely you have some files on The Black Commanders and where their compounds might be placed! I need to get them back: they are my friends, and you, along with everyone else at that base, have done nothing to retrieve Zach! My partner may die because he tried to do what you didn't!"

"Slow down," King demanded, "Even if we knew the location, we wouldn't be able to negotiate a release. Our policy is like the U.S. Embassy's. We'd have to make a raid."

"So make a raid once you or I find the place," Brennan gritted.

"We can't just go in guns slinging. One, we don't know if Zach is still alive, two, because you entered the picture, we have additional civilians to be concerned about, three, we have no right. We need hard evidence, not just your word, that a terrorist group is even inside the compound. We don't need to be shooting people who might be the wrong targets. In addition to that, it takes time to get a team together. Time we clearly don't have. This is irrelevant anyway because we don't know the location"

Brennan seethed, "I'll do this on my own. By not even attempting to help me…they will die out there. Booth is being _tortured. _Zach is _shot._ They deserve a chance, and I'll be damned if I don't give them that."

"Dr. Brennan—"

"I'll be at The Gates of Rock 'N' Roll if you change your mind," Brennan fumed as she slammed the phone shut. Back at the base, King swore once again and pulled the last cigarette he owned from his shirt pocket. He tersely logged the conversation, crushed his cancer stick, and muttered simply, "Good luck."

There was nothing he could do without a location.

Brennan sought to change that.

* * *

_"The victim is aged 50-75 years…male, and appears to have…"_

_"Died on the toilet." Booth walked around Brennan and added, "I don't know whether to laugh or cry. A toilet for Pete's sakes…"_

_"What's so wrong about being found in the bathroom? It's easier to recover his body. Would you rather have him be found in a compost pile…again?" Brennan asked calmly._

_"It's just…weird. You're doing your business one moment, and the next…wham! Someone shoots you in the forehead. It's weird, the circumstances, I mean."_

_Brennan shrugged her shoulders. "In a book, I read that investigators discovered a king on the commode."_

_Booth snorted. "Liar."_

_Brennan blushed and fumbled with her tools, "I don't understand."_

_"That wasn't a king, dummy, that was Elvis Presley!"_

Booth was slapped in the back of the head as the van rolled to a stop. "Quit your daydreaming. Harsh reality is here," he was threatened. Booth closed his eyes as the memory washed over him. It was such a simple time…he never could have known that it would be one of the last. He'd give anything to see the people he loved one last time, before the dark hours ahead.

_Parker._

He almost broke right then. He almost didn't go because of his son.

_Bones._

_I'm sorry._

The van doors slid open and before him laid the compound of the Black Commanders.


	25. Turquoise

****

Chapter Twenty-Five: Turquoise

The air was arid and thick with a heaviness that only spelled an impeding change. Brennan could feel it weigh down her shoulders as she stepped from the dusty and decrepit van that the locals called "taxi." She gave the cautious driver a large sum of money for transporting her from the outskirts of Jameenza to the Gates. He stared at the establishment behind Brennan, looked over the money, and promptly sped away from the site. After a thick cloud of dust settled, Brennan pulled out the only weapon the Black Commanders did not seize. She efficiently checked the chambers and switched off the safety of the Colt Booth gave her, and she thanked her common sense for not leaving it in the jeep when they entered Jameenza. She did not want to use the gun so soon in her plan to get Booth and Zach back. It was not meant for anyone inside the Gates. Putting the weapon behind her jean waistband, she felt a tremor of adrenaline course through her veins. The night air of the desert would have chilled anyone, but Brennan was burning with a sense of purpose and fear, though it wasn't because of what she was about to do. Her near-terror came from the knowledge that she might not be able to save her family.

Her hand went to the thick leather case containing thousands of dollars of her own money that she wired days earlier from Washington, in case there was an emergency. Booth had assured her she wouldn't need it. In a grim, ironic way, she was glad she hadn't listened to him.

_Of course, you neglect to remember that your grand plan will get you killed._

If Booth disliked Brennan's notion of going to Iraq alone _(which he did)_ then he would despise Brennan's new plan with every fiber of his being. She knew this: she of course, didn't care. She had come to the Gates for an informant. Someone had to know where the Black Commanders compound was, and she was willing to pay all she had for that information. She also understood that she would have to go alone. No sane civilian would tempt to bring forth the fury of the radical terrorist group. _Bren, you also forget that the people inside may not know where this place is. Lt. Don King had thought the Black Commanders had died out. Surely others also think that, too._ Brennan shook her head. There were so many 'ifs' in her strategy. She supposed, though, that having too many 'ifs' was far better than having no plan at all.

Obtaining the location would be difficult; the second part of her grand scheme would be damn near impossible. The only thing Brennan could take comfort in was that it was simple enough. Once she arrived at the compound, she would go in, preferably undetected, and rescue Booth and Zach.

And shoot anyone who tried to stop her.

_You're dead. You only have 6 bullets and another cartridge. You're dead. Not only that, they might be dead already. More than likely, really. If only you had some help…_

_But I have to try. I owe them that much._

Brennan studied the outside of the Gates, and found only three vehicles. Her eyes rested briefly on a jeep that appeared familiar, but moved on soon after. Seeing none that appeared to be an enemy, she strode up the stairs and into the barroom.

What she saw shocked her: then she was infuriated.

_Where in the hell did he come from?_

Disregarding her earlier declaration not to use the gun so soon, she pulled it out and stated icily, "You'll get gangrene soon."

She heard the man in the corner sigh as he slammed on the table a plastic container of rubbing alcohol. He was feverish, and sweat dampened the hair around his temples and forehead. She could tell he was in a great deal of pain. _Good. I hope it burns like acid._ Roman Proditorson drawled, "Lady, I know how to take care of a gunshot wound without it rotting. After all, I've kept you're boy scientist's bullet wound from getting rank."

Brennan saw shades of red. She shook, "You've betrayed us. About everything. You are the reason why Zach was taken, and why he's in pain." She saw movement out of the corner of her eye as the Gates only patron and bartender slipped out the front door. _Smart. They sense a fight coming. If I were them, I would leave, too._

Roman took out a roll of gauze and said casually, "It's part of the business."

"If it's all just business, I'll pay you to take me to Booth and Zach," Brennan proposed steadily. "Trust me, I can afford it."

Roman grabbed a bloodied bullet from a tin bowl and replied, "In case you're wondering how I got this sucker embedded in my foot, that asshole Booth ratted me out about how I helped him seventeen years ago. I cannot afford to piss those bastards off again."

"That's ridiculous! What makes you think they'll keep you in 'business' after all that? You have to know they're through with you!"

Roman remained silent for a moment as he took a shot of vodka. He answered evenly, "You don't understand how things work out here. Go back home, where you belong. Collect your losses. There is nothing left for you. Not here."

Brennan shook her head. "I can't do that." She motioned with her weapon, "Take me to the Black Commanders."

Roman wasn't fazed. "You won't shoot me. I have the information you want, and trust me, very few know what I know." He stood up, to Brennan's surprise. "Come on," he said. "Give me your best shot."

_There's no one else around who can take me to the Black Commanders. We're at a stalemate…unless I fight him. He has the warrior mentality. If I defeat him…I might be able to make him tell me that way._

_Damn. There's that 'if' and 'might' again._

She placed the gun on a table. "I won't shoot you. But I'm going to make you wish I did."

He laughed. "Okay, bitch. You asked for it."

* * *

_His hands were tied tightly behind his back; he could feel the coarse rope bite and cut into his wrists to the point where the skin began to flay. He had been stripped down to his boxers and a white beater. Before him was a steel tub filled with water. Shabandar motioned to the two men holding Booth's arms with a flick of a hand, and before he could react, his head was forced into the water. _

_It had begun._

* * *

Brennan marched toward Roman, aiming for a kick to the stomach. Her hands were up, protecting her face. She called forth years of practice in kickboxing and jujitsu and controlled a small smirk as her opponent left himself wide open. He threw a punch, but Brennan blocked it easily. She kicked upwards with such speed that any other person would have been knocked down.

She wasn't counting on Roman catching her leg. He smiled, and with sudden strength, threw her onto her back. She felt the air whoosh out if her lungs as her back made contact with the hardwood floor. Roman wasted no time hitting her while she was down, and she felt several painful kicks to the ribs. The force he had exhibited, even though he was clearly wounded, stunned her.

He backed off, saying, "Get up. That was only round one, sugar."

* * *

_His lungs began to burn, and a vivid blue haze clouded his thoughts. He tried to force his head over the water, but he was shoved roughly, and ultimately, further down. Panic broke through a cemented stoic exterior, and he began to kick out blindly. He felt someone punch him in his kidneys, and he involuntary gasped. Lukewarm, dirty water invaded his mouth and throat._

_They have to let me up soon._

_I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die._

_Bones! I need you…_

_Parker…_

_The Squints…_

_I'd give anything to see them one more time…_

* * *

Brennan rose to her feet, and took a more defensive posture. Roman studied her stance for a moment, stepped forward and threw another punch toward her temple. Brennan blocked it once more, and blocked the additional left hook Roman threw. She jabbed him in the nose with her elbow, and satisfaction bloomed inside her as she felt the cartilage crack. To her shock, he merely blinked twice and charged her. She felt his arms crush around her waist and she was lifted like a rag doll. Roman slammed Brennan on top of a table, which once again left her momentarily breathless. He smacked her hard across the mouth, and she could taste liquid copper. She kicked him in the stomach, which allowed her enough time to roll off the table. As soon as her feet touched ground, however, he kicked behind her left knee, which sent her into a semi-crouching position. He promptly struck her down to the floor by chopping the back of her neck with his hand. As the room spun, she caught a wave of pain flash across his face for putting so much strain on his injured foot. Broken thoughts raced through her mind.

_Get his foot. It's the only way you can get him._

_He's stronger._

_You let Booth and Zach down. _

_Give up._

_FIGHT DAMN IT: FIGHT!_

She spat out a mouthful of blood, and tried to gain a sitting position. Roman shoved her back down roughly and got to his knees. "You're pathetic," he snarled. He smacked her once again across the face as he climbed on top of her. She threw a straight punch toward his Adam's apple, but he caught her fist within his. He grabbed her other arm and slowly lowered them to the ground, where he used the weight of his knees and body as a restraint. She tried to throw him off by using her own weight, but found he was too strong. She started to scream, even though she knew, no one would come.

"Shut your mouth!" he demanded. He hit her once more across the eye. "We let you go, you stupid bitch! Do you know what the Black Commanders do to women hostages? Huh?? How about I show you!" He grabbed the front of her shirt and ripped it savagely, showing part of her bra and pale skin. Brennan struggled furiously, and a near animalistic fervor invaded Roman's body. More recklessly, he fumbled with the button and zipper on her jeans. She smelled sweat and blood mingled together in a rank combination and heard Roman's harsh, loud breathing in her ear as he tried to pull down his pants, all the while managing to keep her pinned down with his weight. As he yanked her jeans down to her knees he accidentally let loose one of her arms.

It was all she needed.

* * *

_The blurry images fogging his thoughts became a vibrant, beautiful turquoise. Almost absurdly, he realized the wonderful hue was identical to Brennan's eyes when she became very, very, angry._

_Water filled his lungs._

* * *

She sucker-punched Roman in the groin. Twice. A guttural moan rose from his mouth as he doubled over. She promptly threw him off her body, and brought her hand down on his gunshot wound. He cried out fiercely as she pulled her pants back up. Her face was flushed with fury and a newfound determination as she kicked Roman multiple times in the thighs and ribs. "You're gonna regret doing that," she threatened, "you disgusting pig!"

* * *

_Booth was thrown out of the water. He collapsed to his knees, gasping and choking for air._

* * *

She stomped his gunshot wound three more times, knowing full well that she was breaking additional bones. Every time he lifted his face from his shielding arms, she struck him down. "Tell me where they are!" she demanded. "TELL ME!"

* * *

_Booth sputtered between gulps of air, "Where's Zach? Let me see him. Let me know he's okay…that he's alive—"_

_Shabandar strode over to Booth, with a hose in hand. "You do not speak." He raised the stiff rubber above his head and brought down on Booth's back. He cried out and nearly spasmed from the stunning force. The hose struck Booth again, and again, and again…_

* * *

In a last ditch effort, Roman grabbed the leg of a chair and threw it at Brennan. She jumped away in time, but the sudden lapse in beating allowed her opponent to get to his feet. He was breathing raggedly, and blood from numerous cuts and scratched oozed forth. He was slumped, and his arms hung loosely at his sides. Brennan felt her own strength worn, and she was standing on swaying legs. She could feel that her face was puffy, and one of her eyes was beginning to swell shut. She needed to end this. Now. As if answering her thoughts, Roman charged her once more. Recalling a defense maneuver Booth taught her, she turned away from him and bent over. He tried to wrap her arms around her neck: she gripped his arm and by using his weight against himself, she flipped him over. He landed on his back and hit the table where Brennan's discarded weapon lay. Knowing he was at the end of his rope, he reached frantically for the Colt, since he had abandoned his weapon at the beginning of the fight, too. Brennan reacted speedily, and immediately thrust another bone-snapping stomp unto his wounded foot. He screamed and clutched his foot as agony rocked his very core. Brennan snatched the gun from the table.

She had won.

"Tell me," she huffed as she cocked the gun, "where they are. Because at this point, I have no problem putting another bullet in your foot."

"Psycho whore!" he spat. She smiled sweetly at him. "Where is the location, Roman. I have six bullets, and there are plenty of places on your body that I can shoot, and it won't kill you. Not immediately, anyway."

"You shoot me, you won't know where they are. Ever!" he challenged.

Her smile vanished, and she informed him cruelly, "I will shoot you dead if you don't tell me. The way I figure it, if you refuse to tell me what I need, Booth and Zach are dead. I won't find anyone else in time. I might as well exact justice. Painfully and willingly. It's you're choice. Live and tell me where they are, or die…with your ass kicked by a woman."

He gnashed his teeth and punched the floor, understanding she was a woman with nothing left to lose, and that made her dangerous and true to her word. Roman gave in, and shaking with indignation and anger, whispered, "20 minutes west."

"I want your jeep."

"I walked miles to retrieve that vehicle after Shabandar gave me the boot. You are not—"

She fired a warning shot into the floor.

Roman stared at her. "The keys are on the back table with the medicine supplies." Brennan backed up several steps, all the while training her eyes on Roman for sudden movement. She swiped keys to his jeep, and took the only gun he had brought into the bar. She knew the jeep would be loaded with weapons, and it gave her a small confidence boost.

"Guess what else is going with me to make sure I get to the right place," she stated as she yanked Roman to his feet, and commanded, "you are."

* * *

_Shabandar tossed the bloodied hose in the corner._

"_Got a question for you." Booth croaked. He shook from exhaustion and pain. "When you look in the mirror, does your reflection duck? You're what we call fugly."_

_Shabandar's hands clutched into tight little balls. He brought his fist down across Booth's jaw. There was a long sigh from Booth as pain escaped him, and he fell into the soothing abyss of unconsciousness._

* * *

Brennan trained her firearm on Roman's head as the Jeep sped through the desert. She realized soon enough that her passenger was nearly out of commission. He leaned dangerously close to the doorless opening of the jeep, and she saw tremors of exhaustion ripple under his skin. She felt no guilt for targeting his wounded foot; it had saved her life, and it may save Booth's and Zach's.

Cradling her satellite phone between her ear and her shoulder, she called Base Salinger. She pressed the gas harder, and drove towards the west.

She was patched once again to civilian services. "I need to speak with Lt. Don King NOW!" she barked.

_"Ma'am, you need to calm yourself—"_

"No, you need to listen to me! Get him on the phone, now! I called hours ago for Christ sake's! I'm no one new."

"_He's unavailable."_

"I bet he is," she stated coolly. "You let him know that Dr. Brennan found the Black Commanders compound. 20 minutes due west from the Gates. They have two American hostages. You let him know I'm going in by myself." She slammed the phone shut and within seconds, a single light shone from the darkness.

"That's it," Roman pointed. "It's a campfire. Tucked into that rising hill is a concrete building, no lights on the outside. Once you get in, though, it's well-lit. There's no place to hide."

She turned her head toward Roman. "Either you jump out willingly, or I shoot you now. I don't need you anymore." She slowed down to 20 miles per hour. "I'd prefer not to kill you."

He pointed at her. "You're going to die. They will kill you the minute you walk in."

"We'll see about that." Without waiting to see his choice, she lifted her leg from the gas pedal and kicked Roman out of the jeep. He fell with a thud and rolled twenty feet before stopping. As the jeep picked up speed, Roman found that for the second time that day, he was stranded in the middle of the desert.


End file.
